Diversions of a Naturalist

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Title: Diversions of a Naturalist
Author: Lankester, E. Ray (Edwin Ray), Sir
Language: English
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DIVERSIONS OF A NATURALIST

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

SCIENCE FROM AN EASY CHAIR

SCIENCE FROM AN EASY CHAIR. SECOND SERIES

FROM AN EASY CHAIR

EXTINCT ANIMALS

THE KINGDOM OF MAN

[Illustration: A CORNER IN A MARINE AQUARIUM, PAINTED BY PHILIP HENRY
GOSSE, F.R.S.

The scene shews the great white Sea Anemone of Weymouth. In front are
two richly coloured sea-worms (Serpula) issuing from their calcareous
tubes, attached to a dead scallop's shell. The green sea-grass
(Zostera) and a translucent pink sea-weed, left and right, complete the
picture]

DIVERSIONS OF A NATURALIST

SIR RAY LANKESTER

K.C.B., F.R.S.

WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN COLOUR AND FORTY-THREE
OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS

METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON

_First Published in 1915_

PREFACE

AT this time of stress and anxiety we all, however steadfast in
giving our service to the great task in which our country is engaged,
must, from time to time, seek intervals of release from the torrent
of thoughts which is set going by the tremendous fact that we are
fighting for our existence. To very many relief comes in splendid
self-sacrificing action, in the joyful exercise of youthful strength
and vigour for a noble cause. But even these, as well as those who are
less fortunate, need intervals of diversion--brief change of thought
and mental occupation--after which they may return to their great
duties rested and refreshed.

I know that there are many who find a never-failing source of happiness
in acquaintance with things belonging to that vast area of Nature which
is beyond and apart from human misery, an area unseen and unsuspected
by most of us and yet teeming with things of exquisite beauty; an area
capable of yielding to man knowledge of inestimable value. Many are
apt to think that the value of "Science" is to be measured mainly,
if not exclusively, by the actual power which it has conferred on
man--mechanical and electrical devices, explosives, life-saving control
over disease. They would say of Science, as the ignoble proverb tells
us of Honesty, that it is "the best policy." But Honesty is far more
than that, and so is Science. Science has revealed to man his own
origin and history, and his place in this world of un-ending marvels
and beauty. It has given him a new and unassailable outlook on all
things both great and small. Science commends itself to us as does
Honesty and as does great Art and all fine thought and deed--not as a
policy yielding material profits, but because it satisfies man's soul.

I offer these chapters to the reader as possibly affording to him,
as their revision has to me, a welcome escape, when health demands
it, from the immense and inexorable obsession of warfare. The several
chapters have been selected from articles entitled "Science from an
Easy Chair" written in recent years by me for the "Daily Telegraph."
Under that title I have already published two volumes of similar
selections. I have chosen a new title, "Diversions of a Naturalist,"
for this third volume in order to avoid confusion with the earlier
ones. Illustrative drawings have been introduced into several of the
articles and a few alterations made in the text. But they remain
essentially what their origin implies--namely, detached essays
addressed to a wide public.

I wish to thank my friend Dr. Smith Woodward of the Natural History
Museum for the figures 23, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, and 30, illustrating
Chapter X, and also to thank Messrs. Veitch for the use of figures 33,
34, 35, 40, and 42. I have copied figures 4 to 8, 11, 19, and 20 from
the drawings made by Philip Henry Gosse, F.R.S., and published by him
in that wonderful little book "Marine Zoology," now long out of print.
I have also borrowed my frontispiece from the book on "The Aquarium"
by that great naturalist and lover of the seashore. Many beautiful
coloured plates of marine animals executed by his skilful hand are to
be found in that and other works published by him.

E. R. L.

16 _June_ 1915

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

I. ON A NORWEGIAN FIORD 1

II. NATURE-RESERVES 13

III. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD 23

IV. THE GREAT GREY SEAL 32

V. THE GROUSE AND OTHER BIRDS 41

VI. THE SAND AND PEBBLES OF THE SEASHORE 48

VII. THE CONSTITUENTS OF A SEABEACH 55

VIII. QUICKSANDS AND FIRE-STONES 64

IX. AMBER 70

X. SEA-WORMS AND SEA-ANEMONES 77

XI. CORAL-MAKERS AND JELLY-FISH 88

XII. SHRIMPS, CRABS, AND BARNACLES 98

XIII. BARNACLES AND OTHER CRUSTACEANS 108

XIV. THE HISTORY OF THE BARNACLE AND THE GOOSE 117

XV. MORE AS TO THE BARNACLE AND THE GOOSE 129

XVI. SEA-SHELLS ON THE SEASHORE 142

XVII. SAND-HOPPERS 152

XVIII. A SWISS INTERLUDE 160

XIX. SCIENCE AND DANCING 170

XX. COURTSHIP 180

XXI. COURTSHIP IN ANIMALS AND MAN 189

XXII. COURTSHIP AND DISPLAY 197

XXIII. COURTSHIP, INSTINCT AND REASON 205

XXIV. DADDY-LONG-LEGS 216

XXV. THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE 226

XXVI. FROM APE TO MAN 236

XXVII. THE SKELETON OF APES AND OF MAN 245

XXVIII. THE BRAIN OF APES AND OF MAN 253

XXIX. THE MIND OF APES AND OF MAN 262

XXX. THE MISSING LINK 275

XXXI. THE SUPPLY OF PURE MILK 292

XXXII. CHRISTMAS TREES AND OTHER PINE TREES 302

XXXIII. THE LYMPH AND THE LYMPHATIC SYSTEM 332

XXXIV. THE BLOOD AND ITS CIRCULATION 342

XXXV. FISH AND FAST DAYS 351

XXXVI. SCIENCE AND THE UNKNOWN 361

XXXVII. DIVINATION AND PALMISTRY 367

XXXVIII. TOADS FOUND LIVING IN STONE 376

XXXIX. THE DIVINING-ROD 383

XL. BIRTH-MARKS AND TELEGONY 396

XLI. HOW TO PROMOTE SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERY BY MONEY 408

INDEX 417

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE WEYMOUTH ANEMONE, ACTINOLOBA DIANTHUS, AND
THE CONTORTED TUBE-WORM SERPULA CONTORTUPLICATA _Frontispiece_

FIG. PAGE

1. A PORTION OF THE BRANCHING TUBULAR GROWTH
FORMED BY RHABDOPLEURA NORMANI 5

2. ONE OF THE POLYPS OF RHABDOPLEURA 7

3. A PIECE OF THE WHITE BRANCHING CORAL (LOPHOHELIA
PROLIFERA) 9

4. BRITISH MARINE WORMS OR CHÆTOPODS 78

5. THE SHELL OF THE HEART-URCHIN (SPATANGUS PURPUREUS)
WITH ITS SPINES RUBBED OFF 80

6. BRITISH SEA-ANEMONES 85

7. A COMMON BRITISH JELLY-FISH 94

8. A COMMON BRITISH JELLY-FISH 96

9. THE LARVAL OR YOUNG FORM OF CRUSTACEA KNOWN
AS "THE NAUPLIUS" 105

10. THE COMMON SHIP'S BARNACLE, LEPAS ANATIFERA 109

11. A LARGE BRITISH SEA-ACORN, BALANUS PORCATUS 110

12. TWO STAGES IN THE GROWTH OF THE COMMON
BARNACLE FROM THE NAUPLIUS STAGE 112

13. THE PICTURE OF THE "GOOSE TREE," COPIED FROM
THE FIRST EDITION OF GERARD'S "HERBAL" 123

14. FANCIFUL DESIGNS BY MYKENÆAN ARTISTS, SHOWING
CHANGE OF THE CUTTLEFISH (OCTOPUS OR
"POULPE") INTO A BULL'S HEAD AND OTHER SHAPES 131

15. THE GOOSE AND THE BARNACLE 133

16. COPY OF A SERIES OF MODIFIED GEESE PAINTED ON
AN EARLY MYKENÆAN POT, FIGURED BY M. PERROT 134

17. TWO DRAWINGS ON POTTERY OF MODIFIED GEESE,
FROM PERROT'S "OSSUAIRE DE CRÈTE" 135

18. LEAVES FROM THE TREE, DRAWN ON A MYKENÆAN
POT 136

19. SOME BRITISH MARINE BIVALVE MOLLUSCS 144

20. THE TWO COMMON KINDS OF "SAND-HOPPER" 153

21. A PHOSPHORESCENT SHRIMP (EUPHAUSIA PELLUCIDA) 154

22. THE CRANE-FLY (DADDY-LONG-LEGS), TIPULA OLERACEA 217

23. COMPARISON OF THE RIGHT HALF OF THE LOWER JAW
OF A, MODERN EUROPEAN; B, EOANTHROPUS FROM
PILTDOWN; AND C, CHIMPANZEE 277

24. DIAGRAMS OF THE LOWER SURFACE OF THE LOWER
JAW OF A, MAN; B, THE EOANTHROPUS OF PILTDOWN
(THE LEFT HALF RE-CONSTRUCTED); AND C, THE CHIMPANZEE 283

25. THE PILTDOWN JAW AND THE HEIDELBERG JAW 286

26. THE CANINE TOOTH OF THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE LOWER
JAW OF EOANTHROPUS DAWSONI 287

27. CANINE TOOTH OF THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE LOWER
JAW OF A EUROPEAN CHILD, MILK DENTITION 287

28. THE PILTDOWN JAW (EOANTHROPUS) 288

29. COMPLETE SKULL AND JAW OF EOANTHROPUS DAWSONI 290

30. THE COMPLETE SKULL AND JAW OF A YOUNG
CHIMPANZEE 290

31. A FERTILE BRANCH OF THE SCOTS FIR, PINUS
SYLVESTRIS 305

32. THE COMMON YEW, TAXUS BACCATA 310

33. A THIN SLICE ACROSS ONE OF THE FOLIAGE NEEDLES
OF THE COMMON SPRUCE 314

34. A THIN SLICE ACROSS ONE OF THE FOLIAGE NEEDLES
OF THE SILVER FIR 315

35. THE UPRIGHT FEMALE CONE OF THE SILVER FIR,
ABIES PECTINATA 316

36. STRUCTURE OF THE FEMALE CONE OF THE SILVER FIR 317

37. THE FEMALE CONE OF THE COMMON SPRUCE, PICEA
EXCELSA 318

38. THE FEMALE CONE AND THE FOLIAGE OF THE COMMON
LARCH, LARIX EUROPŒA 319

39. FEMALE CONE OF THE PINASTER, OR MARITIME PINE
(PINUS PINASTER) 323

40. FEMALE CONE OF THE MONTEREY PINE OF CALIFORNIA
(PINUS INSIGNIS) 325

41. FEMALE CONE OF PINUS MURICATA 326

42. FEMALE CONE OF THE DOUGLAS FIR OF NORTH-WEST
AMERICA, PSEUDOTSUGA DOUGLASII 327

43. THE FORE-ARM OF MAN, WITH THE SKIN REMOVED SO
AS TO SHOW THE LARGE SUPERFICIAL LYMPHATIC
VESSELS RESTING ON THE MUSCLES 334

Oh! how light and lovely the air is upon the earth! How beautiful thou
art, my earth, my golden, my emerald, my sapphire earth! Who, born to
thy heritage would choose to die, would wish to close his eyes upon thy
serene beauties and upon thy magnificent spaces?--FEODOR SOLOGUB.

DIVERSIONS OF A NATURALIST

CHAPTER I

ON A NORWEGIAN FIORD

THE splendour of our Sussex Weald, with its shady forests and lovely
gardens, around which rise the majestic Downs sweeping in long graceful
curves marked by the history of our race, has charmed me during these
sunny days of June. The orchids, the water-lilies, the engaging and
quaintly named "petty whin," and the pink rattle are joined with
the tall foxgloves and elder-blossoms in my memory. And for some
reason--perhaps it is the heat--I am set thinking of very different
scenes--the great, cool fiords of Norway, with their rocky islets and
huge, bare mountain-tops, where many years ago I had the "time of
my life" in exploring with the naturalist's dredge the coral-grown
sea-bottom 1000 and even 2000 feet in a straight line below the little
boat in which I and my companion and three Norwegian boatmen floated on
the dark purple waves.

To let a dredge--an oblong iron frame some three feet long, to the
edges of which a bag of strong netting is laced, whilst the frame is
hung to a rope by a mystical triangle--sink from the side of a boat and
scrape the surface of the ocean-floor far below for some ten or twenty
minutes, and then to haul it up again and see what living wonders
the unseen world has sent you, is, in my opinion, the most exciting
and delightful sport in which a naturalist can indulge. There are
difficulties and drawbacks connected with it. You cannot, in a small
boat and without expenditure of large sums on a steam yacht and crew,
reach from our coast--with rare exceptions in the north-west--with
a fair prospect of returning in safety, those waters which are 100
fathoms deep. And it is precisely in such depths that the most
interesting "hauls" are to be expected. I had had in former days to be
content with 10 fathoms in the North Sea and 30 to 40 off the Channel
Islands.

Then there is the question of sea-sickness. Nothing is so favourable
to that diversion as slowly towing a dredge. I used to take the chance
of being ill, and often suffered that for which no other joy than the
hauling in of a rich dredgeful of rare sea creatures could possibly
compensate, or induce me to take the risk (as I did again and again).
I remember lying very ill on the deck of a slowly lurching "lugger"
in a heaving sea off Guernsey, when the dredge came up, and as its
contents were turned out near me, a semi-transparent, oblong, flattened
thing like a small paper-knife began to hop about on the boards. It
was the first specimen I ever saw alive of the "lancelet" (Amphioxus),
that strange, fish-like little creature, the lowest of vertebrates.
I recognized him and immediately felt restored to well-being, seized
the young stranger, and placed him in a special glass jar of clear
sea-water. A few years later the fishermen at Naples would bring me,
without any trouble to myself, twenty or more any day of the week
("cimbarella" they called them), and I not only have helped to make
out the cimbarella's anatomy, but also to discover the history of
the extraordinary changes it undergoes as it grows from the egg. I
sent my pupil Dr. Willey, now professor in Montreal, one summer to a
nearly closed sea-lake, the "pantano" of Faro, near Messina, where the
lancelet breeds. He brought home hundreds of minute young in various
stages, and again later made a second visit to that remote sea-lake
in order to complete our knowledge of their growth and structure by
observation on the spot.

The advantage of the Norwegian fiords for a naturalist who loves to
"dredge" is that at many parts of the coast you can sail into water
of 200 fathoms depth and more, within three minutes from the rocky
shore; and, secondly, that the great passage between the islands
and the mainland is, to a very large extent, protected from those
movements of the surface which cause such torture to many innocent
people who venture on the sea in boats! Accordingly, in 1882, when I
heard from the greatest naturalist-dredger of his day--the Rev. Canon
Norman, of Durham--that he knew a farmhouse at Lervik, on the island
of Stordö, near the mouth of the Hardanger Fiord, between Bergen and
Stavanger--where one could stay, and where a boat could be hired for
a couple of months--I determined to go there. I was confirmed in my
purpose by the fact that Canon Norman had obtained in his dredge, at a
spot near Lervik, which he marked for me on the large-scale official
map of the region, a very curious little polyp-like animal, attached
to and branching on the stems of the white coral which one dredges
there at the depth of 150 fathoms. The little animal in quest of which
I went, though other wonderful things were to be expected also, had
been dredged originally by Dr. Norman off the Shetland Islands, and
described by Professor Allman, of Edinburgh. But they had not examined
it in the living state with the microscope, and though they showed
that it was quite unlike other polyps, yet there was obvious need for
further examination of it. I hoped to obtain its eggs and to watch
its early growth. The name given to it by Allman was "Rhabdopleura,"
meaning "rod-walled," alluding to a rod-like cord which runs along the
inside of the delicate branching tube (only the one-twentieth of an
inch wide), which the little animal constructs and inhabits.

I sent a chest containing glass jars, microscopes, books, chemicals,
etc., and my dredge, as well as a large windlass, on which was coiled
600 fathoms of rope, by sea to Lervik, and started in early July, with
my assistant, Dr. Bourne (afterwards Director of Education in the
Madras Presidency), overland, via Copenhagen, for Christiania. Thence
we drove in "carioles" across Norway to Laerdalsören, on the west
coast, making acquaintance with the magnificent waters--rivers, lakes,
and cascades--of that pine-grown land. After visiting the Naerodal
and the glaciers which descend from the mountains into the sea on the
Fjaerlands Fiord, we took steamer to Lervik, and were welcomed at our
farmhouse by its owner, the sister of the member of Parliament for the
surrounding region (about four times the area of Yorkshire), whose son
secured for me a fair-sized sailing boat, and with two other men of
Lervik engaged as my crew for six weeks.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.--A portion of the branching tubular growth
formed by Rhabdopleura Normani, fixed to and spreading over the smooth
surface of an Ascidian, dredged at Lervik and drawn of three times the
natural dimensions. The colourless tubes (b) stand up freely from the
surface to which the rest of the growth is adherent, and from each of
them issues in life (as seen at bb) a polyp such as that shown in Fig.
2. Each polyp is continuous with the dark internal cord (or rod) which
is seen traversing the whole of the tubular system. a, points to the
main and oldest portion of the branching stem; c, points to a "leading"
shoot which is still adherent and will give rise to young buds right
and left which will form upright tubes like b. The inset d represents
a piece of the tube magnified so as to show the rings by which it is
built up.]

After a day or two we had everything in order, and at seven o'clock
one morning sailed out of the harbour to make our first cast of the
dredge. The mouth of the harbour of Lervik is 40 fathoms deep, and the
great north-bound steamers enter it and come alongside the rocks
on which the village stands. Outside the harbour the depth increases
precipitously to 200 fathoms. We sailed about 10 miles along the fiord,
and determined precisely the spot indicated by Dr. Norman on the map,
and here we lowered our dredge. We had fixed around the mouth of the
dredge long tassels of hemp fibre, since on rocky ground, such as we
were now dredging, one cannot expect much to be "scooped up" by the
slowly travelling dredge as it passes over the bottom, whilst the
threads of the hemp, on the contrary, entangle and hold all sorts of
objects with which they come into contact. We were 1000 feet from the
bottom, and our dredge took a good five minutes to sink as we paid
out the rope from the winch in the stern of our boat. When it reached
the bottom we let out another 2000 feet of rope, and then very slowly
towed the dredge for about a quarter of an hour. Then the laborious
task commenced of winding it up again, two men turning the handles
of the winch for a quarter of an hour. At last the dredge could be
seen through the clear water, and soon was at the surface and lifted
into the boat. The hempen tangles were crowded with masses of living
and dead white coral (Fig. 3), star-fishes, worms, and bits of stone
covered with brilliant-coloured sponges, Terebratulæ (a deep-water,
peculiar shellfish, the lamp-shell), and other animals. There were only
a few fragments of coral in the bag of the dredge.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.--One of the polyps of Rhabdopleura which is
attached by its soft contractile stalk (c) to the dark internal cord
seen in Fig. 1. A similar polyp issues during life from the open end
of each of the upright tubes seen in Fig. 1, and is, when disturbed,
pulled back into the tube by the contraction of the cord c. a, mouth;
b, vent; c, contractile stalk; d, head-shield or disk; e, the left
gill-plane; f, the body-mass enclosing the intestine, etc. (From a
drawing made by the author in Lervik, Stordö, in 1882.) For a full
account of Rhabdopleura, see the "Quart. Journal of Microscopical
Science," vol. xxiv., 1884.]

We filled glass jars with sea water and placed the bits of coral in
them, and I eagerly examined them for the creeper-like "Rhabdopleura."
There, sure enough, it was on several of the dead stems of coral,
and we sailed back to Lervik with our booty in order to examine it
at leisure with the microscope whilst still fresh and living. In our
temporary laboratory at the farmhouse the little polyp which it had
been my chief object to study, issued slowly from its delicate tubes
when placed in a shallow trough of sea-water beneath the microscope.
I was able on that day, and many others subsequently--with renewed
supplies from the depths of the fiord--to make coloured drawings of
it, and to find out a great deal of interest to zoologists about its
structure. The minute thing (Fig. 2) was spotted with orange and black
like a leopard, and had a plume of tentacles on each side of its mouth,
which was overhung by a mobile disk--the organ by means of which it
creeps slowly out of its tube, and also by which the transparent rings
which form the tube are secreted and added one by one to the tube's
mouth, so as to increase its length. The creature within the tree-like
branching system of tubes (Fig. 1) is also tree-like and branching,
fifty or more polyp-like individuals terminating its branches and
issuing each from one of the upstanding terminal branches of the tube
system. I was able to determine the "law" of its budding and branching,
and I also found the testis full of spermatozoa in several of the
polyps, but I failed to find eggs. I believe that we were too late in
the season for them; and they are still unknown.

One of the most interesting deep-sea creatures discovered by the
"Challenger" proved to be closely allied to our little Rhabdopleura,
and received the name "Cephalodiscus." Several species of this second
kind have been discovered in the last twenty years in the deep sea,
and the largest and most remarkable in some respects was one which
"jumped to my eyes" among the booty of marine dredgings sent home from
the Antarctic expedition of the "Discovery" by Captain Scott, when I
unpacked the cases containing these marine treasures, in the basement
of the Natural History Museum. I published a photograph of it in
the "Proceedings of the Royal Society," and named it "Cephalodiscus
nigrescens." But nothing more of importance has, as yet, been brought
to light as to "Rhabdopleura."

[Illustration: FIG. 3.--A piece of the white branching coral
(Lophohelia prolifera) dredged in great quantity by the author off
Lervik in 1882. Drawn of the natural size.]

Our rule at Lervik was to go out dredging from seven to twelve, and
work at the material with microscope and pencil for some three or
four hours after lunch. Of all the many beautiful things we dredged,
the most striking were the various kinds of corals, the large,
glass-like shrimps, the strange apple-green worm Hamingia (actually
known previously by two specimens only), and the large, disc-like and
branched, sand-covered or sausage-like Protozoa (from a shelly bottom
of 200 fathoms depth). My friend Dr. Norman joined me at Lervik after
I had been there for a month, and showed his extraordinary skill in
choosing the most favourable spots for sinking the dredge and in
pouncing on interesting specimens as we sorted the contents of the
dredge (when we had been on a soft bottom) by passing them through the
sieves, specially provided for naturalists' use, as we gently rocked on
the dark surface of the clear, deep water, many miles from our island.
The colours and light of that region are wonderful--the mountains of a
yellow tint, far paler than the purple sea, whilst the rocky islands
are fringed with seaweed of rich orange-brown colour, and clothed with
grass and innumerable flowers.

The white coral of two kinds (Lophohelia and Amphihelia) is accompanied
by beautiful purple and salmon-coloured softer kinds of coral
(Alcyonarians), known as Primnoa, and by the gigantic Paragorgia. On
one occasion our dredge became fast. For long nothing would move it,
and we feared we should have to cut it and lose some 300 fathoms of
rope. At last the efforts of four men at the oars set it free, and we
wound it in. As the dredge came up we found entangled in the rope an
enormous tree-like growth, as thick as a man's arm, seven feet long,
and spreading out into branches, the whole of a pale vermilion colour
(like pink lacquer)--a magnificent sight! It was a branch of the great
tree-coral of these waters--the Paragorgia--and we preserved many
pieces of it in alcohol and dried the rest. But the gorgeous colour
could not be retained.

One day the green worm, Hamingia (named after a Norwegian hero--Haming)
was dredged by us at the mouth of Lervik Harbour, in 40 fathoms. A
somewhat similar worm lives in holes in the limestone rocks of the
Mediterranean, and is named Bonellia (after the Italian naturalist,
Bonelli). All the specimens of this Mediterranean worm, which is as
large as a big walnut, and has a trunk, or proboscis, a foot long,
were found to be females. The male was unknown until my friend the
late Alexander Kowalewsky, the most remarkable of Russian zoologists,
discovered that it is a tiny threadlike green creature, no bigger than
the letter "i" on this page. Three or four are found crawling about on
the body of the large female. I found the same diminutive kind of male
crawling on my Norwegian Hamingia, at Lervik, and published a drawing
and description of him. I was also able to show that, unlike Bonellia,
the Norwegian worm has red blood-corpuscles, like those of a frog, and
impregnated with hæmoglobin, the same oxygen-carrying substance which
colours our own blood-corpuscles. The identity of the worm's hæmoglobin
with that in our own blood was proved by its causing two dark bands of
absorption in the solar spectrum when light was passed through it and
then through the spectroscope--dark bands exactly the same in position
and intensity as those caused by the red substance of my own blood and
changing into one single band intermediate in position between the
two--when deprived by an appropriate chemical of the oxygen loosely
combined with it.

[Illustration: On the Fiord near Lervik.]

Of many other things we caught and many other delights of that
long-past summer on the Norwegian fiords, of the great waterfalls, the
vast forests, the delightful swimming in the sea, the trout-fishing,
and the very trying food approved and provided for us by the natives,
I must not now tell. My hope is that I may have enabled my readers to
understand some of the enjoyment open to the marine zoologist, even
when he dispenses with the aid of a big steamship, and modestly pursues
his quarry in a sportsmanlike spirit.

CHAPTER II

NATURE-RESERVES

ONE of the new features of modern life--the result of the enormous
development of the newspaper press and the vast increase in numbers of
those who read and think in common--is the development of a sensitive
"self-consciousness" of the community, a more or less successful
effort to know its own history, to value the records of the past,
and to question its own hitherto unconscious, unreflecting attitude
in mechanically and as it were blindly destroying everything which
gets in the way of that industrial and commercial activity which
is regarded, erroneously, as identical with "progress." Beautiful
old houses and strange buildings--priceless records of the ways and
thought of our early ancestors---which at one time were either guarded
by superstitious reverence or let alone because there was room for
them and for everything else in the spacious countryside---have been
thoughtlessly pulled down as population and grasping enterprise
increased. The really graceful old houses of London and other towns,
lovingly produced by former men who were true artists, have been broken
up and their panelling and chimney-pieces sold to foreigners in order
to make way for more commodious buildings, hideous in their ignorant
decoration, or brutally "run up," gaunt, bare, and mis-shapen. The
stones of Avebury, of Stonehenge, and of many another temple have been
knocked to pieces by emancipated country-folk--no longer restrained
either by superstition or by reverence--to mend roads and to make
enclosures.

Happily the new self-consciousness is taking note of these things.
That strange lumbering body which we call "the mother of parliaments"
has dimly reflected the better thought of the community, and given a
feeble sort of protection to ancient monuments. The newspapers have
lately managed to excite some public interest in a fine old house in
Dean Street, Soho, and to arouse a feeling of shame that the richest
city in the richest Empire of the world should allow the few remnants
of beautiful things of the past still existing in its midst to be
destroyed by the uncontrolled operation of mercenary "progress." I
have, in common with many others, visited this doomed mansion. It is
a charming old place, of no great size or importance, and, with its
well-proportioned panelled rooms and fine staircase, was destined to
be a private residence. It is not large enough to be a museum, but
its rooms might serve for the show place of a first-rate maker or
vender of things of fine workmanship. There ought to be some public
authority--municipal or departmental--with power to acquire such
interesting houses as this, not necessarily to convert them into
permanent public shows, but to keep them in repair, and to let them
on lease, at a reasonable rent, to tenants, subject to the condition
of their being open on certain days in the year to artists and others
provided with orders of admission by the authority. In other countries
such arrangements are made; with us they are not made simply because
we have not assigned to any authority the duty of acting in this way
for the public benefit. Our public authorities have little or no public
spirit, and resemble private committees, councils, and individuals
in evading and refusing even the smallest increase of responsibility
and activity beyond that which they are compelled by law to discharge.
Unless they are legally compelled to interfere, all records of art and
nature may perish before they will incur the inconvenience of moving a
finger! Consequently the only thing to be done is to assign such duties
by law to an existing authority, or to one created for such purposes.

The same tale of destruction and irreparable damage has to be told of
our dealings with the beauty of once unsullied moorland, meadow, marsh,
forest, river-bank, and seashore. But the destruction has here been
more gradual, less obvious on account of remoteness, and more subtle
in its creeping, insinuating method, like that of a slowly-spreading
infective disease. The word "country" has to a very large extent ceased
to signify to us "outlying nature beyond the man-made town," occupied
only in little tracts here and there by the immemorial tillers of the
soil. The splendid and age-long industry of our field-workers has made
much of our land a garden. Now they themselves are disappearing or
changed beyond recognition, losing their traditional arts and crafts,
their distinctive and venerable dialects, and their individuality.
The land is enclosed, drained, manured; food plants produced by the
agriculturist replace the native plants; forests are cut down and
converted into parks and pheasant-runs; foreign trees are substituted
for those native to the soil. Commons, heaths, and wild moorlands have
been enclosed by eager land-grabbers, the streams are polluted by
mining or chemical works, or if kept clean are artificially overstocked
with hand-fed trout; whilst the open roads reek of tar and petroleum.
The "wilderness" is fast disappearing, and it is by this name that
we must distinguish from the mere "country," as much besmirched and
devastated by man as are the sites of his towns and cities, the regions
where untouched nature still survives and is free from the depredations
of humanity. Many beautiful and rare plants which once inhabited our
countryside have perished; many larger animals (such as wolf, beaver,
red-deer, marten-cats, and wild-cats) have disappeared, as well as many
insects, great and small, such as the swallow-tailed butterfly and the
larger copper butterfly, and many splendid birds.

Here and there in these islands are to be found bits of "wilderness"
where some of the ancient life--now so rapidly being destroyed--still
flourishes. There are some coast-side marshes, there are East
Anglian fens, some open heath-land, and some bits of forest which
are yet unspoilt, unravaged by blighting, reckless humanity. It is
a distressing fact that some of the recent official attempts to
preserve open forest land and commons for the public enjoyment have
been accompanied by a mistaken attempt to drain them, and lay them
out with gravel walks, to the complete destruction of their natural
beauty and interest. The bog above the Leg of Mutton Pond, on Hampstead
Heath, where I used to visit, years ago, the bog-bean and the sun-dew,
and many a moss-grown pool swarming with rare animalcules, has been
drained by an over-zealous board of guardians, animated by a suburban
enthusiasm for turf and gravel paths. The same spirit, hostile to
nature and eager to reduce the wilderness to vulgar conventionality,
has tamed the finer parts of Wimbledon Common, and is busy laying
down gravel paths in Epping Forest. In the New Forest the clamour
of the neighbouring residents for "sport" has led to the framing of
regulations by the officials of the Crown (it is a "Royal" forest),
which are resulting in the destruction and disappearance of rare
birds which formerly nested there. Many a distant common threatened
by the builder has been preserved as an open space by golfers. Such
preservation is like that of the boards of conservators, useless
from the point of view of the nature-lover. The health-seeking crowd
spreads devastation around it. The rare sand-loving plants of the
dunes, and the "bog-bean," the "sun-dew," and other refugees from human
persecution on our once unfrequented heath-lands, are remorselessly
trodden down or hacked up by the golfer. Other destroyers of nature's
rarer products are those who greedily search for them and carry them
off, root and branch, to the last specimen, in order to sell them.
These dealers are "collectors," indeed, but must not be confused with
the genuine "naturalist," who may allow himself, with due modesty, to
secure a limited sample of treasures from nature's open hand.

Under these circumstances a society has been founded for the formation
of "nature-reserves" in the British Islands. Its object is to secure,
by purchase or gift, tracts of as yet unsullied wilderness--of which
some are still, though rarely, to be found--where beast and bird,
insect and plant are still living as of old--untouched, unmolested,
undisturbed by intrusive, murderous man. The society's object is to
enter into relations with those who may know of such tracts, and to
arrange for their transference--if of sufficient interest--to the
National Trust. The expense of proper guardianship and the admission
to the reserve of duly authorized persons would be the business of the
society. Its office is at the Natural History Museum in Cromwell Road,
and Mr. Ogilvie Grant, the naturalist in charge of the ornithological
collections, is one of the secretaries. Sir Edward Grey and Mr. Lewis
Harcourt and several of our most distinguished botanists and zoologists
are members of the council. All who sympathize with the objects of the
society should write to the secretary for further information.

Already two tracts of land were secured as nature-reserves before
the society came into existence. One of these is Wickham Fen, not
far from Cambridge, renowned for its remarkable plants and insects.
It was purchased and placed in the hands of the National Trust by a
public-spirited entomologist. Another reserve, which has been secured,
is far away on the links or dunes of the north coast of Norfolk,
and is of especial interest to botanists. No one--either golfer or
bungalow-builder--can now interfere there and destroy the interwoven
flora and fauna, the members of which balance and protect, encourage
and check one another, as is Nature's method. The interaction of
the various species of wild plants in this undisturbed spot is made
the subject of continual and careful study by the botanists who are
permitted to frequent it. More such "reserves" and of different
characters are desirable. Should we, of the present day, succeed in
securing some great marsh-land, one or more rocky headlands or islands,
and a good sweep of Scotch moor and mountain, and in raising money to
provide guardians for these acquisitions, we shall not only enjoy them
ourselves but be blessed by future generations of men for having saved
something of Britain's ancient nature, when all else, which is not
city, will have become manure, shooting greens, and pleasure gardens.

In Germany and in Switzerland a good deal has been done in this way.
Owing to the existence of "forestry" and a State Forest Department
in Germany--which has no representative in this country--there is
machinery for selecting and guarding such "reserves." A large sum is
assigned annually by the Government to this purpose. Last year an
international congress, attended by delegates from the English society,
as well as by representatives of many other States, was held, and much
useful discussion as to methods and results took place.

The notion of creating a nature-reserve on a small scale seems to
have originated with Charles Waterton, the traveller and naturalist,
who in the middle of last century converted the estate surrounding
his residence near Pontefract in Yorkshire into a sort of sanctuary,
where he made it a strict rule that no wild thing should be molested.
For some years now the attempt to create "nature-reserves," on a far
larger scale than those of which I have been writing, has been made
where civilization is planting its first settlements in primeval
forest and prairie. The United States Government, impressed with the
rapid destruction and disappearance both of forests and of native
animals which have accompanied the opening up by road and rail of vast
territories in the West, created in 1872 the national "reserve," called
the Yellowstone Park, which is some 3300 square miles in area. We are
assured that here under proper guardianship the larger native animals
are increasing in number; whilst the great coniferous trees, which were
in danger of extermination by the white man, are safe. Similar reserves
have been proclaimed in parts of Africa under British control, but
though that known as Mount Elgon--an ancient volcanic cup, clad with
forest, and ten miles in diameter--seems to have been effective, and to
have furnished in Sir Harry Johnston's time, ten years ago, a refuge
for the giraffe, it is scarcely possible, at present, to provide an
efficient police force to protect areas of something like 1000 square
miles against the depredations of native and commercial "hunters"
provided with modern rifles.

In May, 1900, I was, with the late Sir Clement Hill, appointed
"plenipotentiary" by her Majesty Queen Victoria to meet representatives
of Germany, France, Spain, Portugal, and the Congo States in a
conference, presided over by the late Marquis of Linlithgow, at the
Foreign Office. The conference was arranged by the great African
powers in order to consider and report on the means to be taken to
preserve the big game animals of Africa from extinction. We spent an
extremely interesting fortnight, and finally agreed upon a report, the
upshot of which was that whilst certain animals, such as the giraffe,
some zebras and antelopes, the gorilla, and such useful birds as the
vultures, secretary bird, owls, and the cow-pickers (Buphagus), should
be absolutely protected, others should be only protected at certain
seasons, or in youth, or in limited numbers, and others again should
be killed without licence or restraint at any time, such being the
lion, the leopard, the hunting-dog, destructive baboons, most birds
of prey, crocodiles, pythons, and poisonous snakes. The question of
large "nature-reserves" was discussed. It was agreed that such reserves
should be maintained for the breeding-places and rearing of the young
of desirable animals, and that the destruction of predatory animals or
an excess of other forms should be permitted to the administrators of
such reserves. Thus it is clear that no absolute "nature-reserves" were
considered possible.

In fact this is the case whether the reserve be large or small. Once
man is present in the neighbourhood, even at a long distance, he upsets
the "balance of Nature." The naturalist's small "nature-reserve" may be
ravaged by predatory animals driven from the outlying region occupied
by man, or again, the absence from the "reserve" of predatory animals
which act as natural checks on the increase of other animals, may lead
to excessive and unhealthy multiplication of the latter. Man must
"weed" and artificially manage his "reserve" after all! Man brings
also into the neighbourhood of reserves, great and small, disease
germs in his domesticated animals, which are carried by insects into
the cherished "reserve," and there cause destruction. Conversely,
the animals maintained in a reserve carry in their blood microscopic
parasites to the poisons of which they have become immune by natural
selection in the course of ages. They act as "reservoirs" of such
microscopic germs. These germs carried by flies or other insects to the
carefully reared cattle imported by civilized man from other regions
of the world into the neighbourhood of such "reserves," cause deadly
disease (such as the tsetse-fly diseases or trypanosome diseases)
to those imported cattle, as also to man himself. Whilst, then, we
may do something to retain small tracts of our own country in the
modified state which it attained after the earlier inhabitants had
destroyed lion, bear, wolf, and other noxious animals, as well as great
herbivora, such as giant deer, red deer, aurochs (or great bull), and
bison--yet in reality a true "Nature-reserve" is not compatible with
the occupation of the land, within some hundreds of miles of it, by
civilized, or even semi-civilized, man.

Nothing but the isolation given by a wide sea or high mountain ranges
will preserve a primeval fauna and flora--the indigenous man-free
living denizens of the isolated region--from destruction by the
necessary unpremeditated disturbance of Nature's balance by man once he
has passed from the lowest stage of savagery. At present we are faced
by this difficulty in Africa. Not only the white settlers have large
herds of cattle, but before their arrival the native races had imported
Indian cattle. These cattle are destroyed by "fly disease," the germs
(trypanosomes) being carried by the tsetse-fly to the domesticated
cattle from wild buffalo which swarm with the germs but are uninjured
by them. Consequently, if the rich pasture lands of Africa--at present
unutilized--are to be occupied by herdsmen, the wild game, buffalo and
antelopes, must be destroyed. In many regions they have been destroyed.
Is this destruction to be continued? If Africa is to be the seat of a
modern human population and supply food to other parts of the world,
the whole "balance of Nature" there must be upset and the big wild
animals destroyed. There is no alternative. The practical question
is, "How far is it possible to mitigate this process?" Can a great
African "reserve" of 100,000 square miles be established in a position
so isolated that it shall not be a source of disease and danger to the
herdsmen and agriculturists of adjacent territory?

CHAPTER III

FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD

SOME men of unbalanced minds have lately proposed deliberately and
completely to obliterate all the artistic work of past generations of
man in order, as they openly profess, that they themselves and their
own productions may obtain consideration. Even were they able to make
such a clearance, it may be doubted whether the consideration given to
their own performances would be favourable. These obscure individuals
have immodestly dubbed themselves "futurists," and the name has been
at once adopted as a mystification and advertisement by a variety
of art-posers--probably unknown to the originators of the word--who
have ventured into one or other of the fields of art without even
the smallest gift, either of conception or of expression, or even of
imitation. They receive undeserved attention from a section of the
public ready to dabble in every newly-made puddle. I am led to refer
to them because the abolition of the supremely beautiful things slowly
evolved by Nature in the long course of ages, and the substitution for
them of man's fancy breeds and races and garden paths, is not merely a
parallel piece of folly, but is due to a mental defect identical with
that of the genuine "futurist," namely, an intellectual incapacity
which renders its victim insensible to the charm of historical and
evolutional complexity.

The modern man who nourishes a real love for undistorted nature--that
is to say, who is a true "naturalist"--has one or two resources even in
these British Islands. There are ways of access to Nature unadorned by
man which are open even to the town-dweller. The chief of these is the
seashore. Even from London, in the course of a few hours, one may be
transported to territory where there are no traces of man's operations.
The region of rock and pool, sand-flat, and shell-bank, exposed by
the sea as it retreats, is a real "nature-reserve"--effectually so is
that deepest area only exposed at spring-tides. The locality chosen
by the naturalist must be at a distance from any great harbour or
estuary polluted by the cities seated on its banks, and should also
be out of the way of the modern steam-driven fish trawlers, which
have caused havoc in some sweet bays of our southern coast by pouring
out tons of dead, unsaleable fish. The rejected offal has become the
gathering-ground of carnivorous marine creatures, and the balance of
Nature has been upset by the nourishment thus thoughtlessly thrown by
man into new relations.

Some favoured spot on the south or west coast may be known to our
city-dwelling nature-lover, and thither he will hasten to spend
week-ends, and, when he can, longer spells in the supreme delight of
undisturbed communion with the things of Nature, apart from human
"enterprise." In some cottage near the sea marsh, where an unpolluted
stream joins the salt water, he has his accustomed lodging; his host, a
cheery long-shore fisherman and handy boatman. Close by is the rising
headland and rocky cliff facing the sea. The shore is strewn with
rocks, and as the tide goes down long "reefs" are exposed, clothed
with brown and green seaweeds. Here no man has intruded! When the
water recedes still farther, pools and miniature caverns appear,
edged with delicate feathery red-coloured seaweeds. Many small fishes,
shrimps of various kinds, sometimes pale rainbow-tinted "squids"
(one of the more delicate cuttle-fishes), are seen darting about the
pools, changing their colour with lightning rapidity. The overhanging
sides of the rock-pools give protection to gorgeously-coloured
"sea-anemones" adhering to them. Here, also, are those exquisite
ascidians--ill-described by the rough name "sea-squirt"--hanging from
the rocks like drops of purest crystal in their transparency--for which
naturalists use the prettier title "Clavellina." The nature-lover now
turns one of the large flat slabs of rock lying in such a pool--well
knowing what loveliness its under-side will reveal to his eyes. That
under-side is studded with a dozen or two of the most exquisite gems of
green and peach colour, ruby and yellow (Corynactis by name!), which,
if the slab of stone is left beneath the water, expand and display each
its circlet of brilliant little tentacles. They are sea-anemones no
bigger than the precious stone in a signet-ring. Among them a bright
salmon-coloured worm hastens with serpentine movement and the rippling
strokes of a hundred feathery feet to escape from the unaccustomed
light. A deep blood-red coloured prawn (Alpheus) darts from concealment
and hastily buries itself in the sandy bottom of the pool, snapping
its pincerlike claw with a sharp cracking sound. A couple of bivalved
shells (Lima hians) which were concealed beneath the slab swim lazily
round the pool by opening and closing their delicate white "valves"--an
unusual kind of activity in such mussels, oysters, and clams--whilst
a fringe of long orange-red tentacles trails in the water from each
of them. The lifting of another rock may dislodge an "octopus"--or a
huge brilliantly-coloured star-fish--or one of the rarer kinds of
crab eager to avoid the observation of the octopus, of which it is the
regular food. A spade pushed into the neighbouring sandbanks reveals
heart-urchins, gorgeous sea-worms, and burrowing shell-fish and perhaps
sand-eels. The human visitor--bending over these scenes of wonderment
and perhaps venturing to transfer one or two only of the less familiar
animals to a glass jar filled with sea-water so that he may see them
more clearly--at last stands up and straightens his back, gazing over
the sun-bathed scene from the tumbled weed-grown rocks, encrusted
with crowds of purple-blue mussels, to the patches of golden sand,
clear pools, and the blue sea beyond. Then he may note (as I have) a
curious rhythmical sound if he is among rocks covered with seaweeds--a
quiet but incessant "hiss-hiss," which is heard above the deeper-toned
lapping of the little waves among the big stones. This is the sound
made by the rasp-like tongues of the periwinkles feeding on the
abundant weed, over which they crawl, leaving the water and "browsing"
on the surface exposed to the air by the fall of the tide. The browsing
sound of these little snails is to the seashore what the humming of
bees is to inland meadows.

Day after day and at various seasons of the year the nature-lover will
visit this sanctuary, and, whilst contemplating the lovely forms,
colour, and movement of its denizens, will learn the secrets of
their life, of their comings and goings, and the mysteries of their
reproduction, their birth, and their childhood. Each day he finds
something unknown to his brother naturalists. He will examine it with
his lens, paint it in all its beauty, and tell of it in due course in
printed page and coloured portraiture; but he is no mere seeker for
novelty, nor is the credit of discovery the motive of his devotion.
Beyond and greater than any such gains are the incomparable delight,
the never-failing happiness which personal intimacy with the secret
things of natural beauty bring to him.

He has yet another chance of such enjoyment, if he be a microscopist,
and familiar with the inhabitants of fresh-water ponds. A pond is,
in many cases, an oasis in the waste of civilization, a miniature
nature-reserve, rarely, if ever, affected by human proceedings until
haply it is abolished altogether. A fairly deep, stagnant pond under
trees in some secluded park is one of the most favourable kind, but all
sorts deserve inquiry (even the rain pools on the roofs of old houses
in Paris have rewarded the faithful seeker), and may prove, for a time
at least, havens of refuge for a wonderful assemblage of animalcules
and minute microscopic plants, which for the most part perish as did
the bison of the American plains by the mere disturbance caused by
the propinquity of civilized man. I knew such a pond--it is now built
over--near Hampstead. As one lay on the bank and peered into the depths
of the pond the transparent, glass-like larvæ of the "plume fly"
(Corethra) could be seen swimming in the clear water, driving before
it troops of minute pink-coloured water-fleas (Daphnia) and other
crustaceans.

In other parts the water was made bluish-green by crowds of the little
floating spherical animalcules called "Volvox globator." The mud
contained many curious worms allied to the earth-worm, whilst coiled
round fallen twigs were the small snake-like worms known as "Nais
serpentina." Desmids, Diatoms, and animalcules of endless variety
abounded. A muslin net set on a ring on the end of a stick enabled one
to procure samples of the floating life of the water and also to skim
the surface of the mud, and these spoils were brought home in bottles
and searched for hours drop by drop with the microscope. The world of
active, graceful, bustling life thus revealed as one gazes for hours
through the magic tube of the microscope, is as remote from human
civilization as that uncovered at low tide on the seashore. Many a
worried City man, amongst them a great political writer on the staff of
a London daily, now passed from among us, has found in this microscopic
world--so readily accessible even at his own study table--a release
from care, a refreshing contact with unadulterated natural things of
life and beauty. My friend, Iwan Müller, the writer referred to, was as
discriminating a judge of the shapes of wheel-animalcules as he was of
the faces of the politicians of Europe and South Africa!

There is another and much more difficult escape from the grip and taint
of civilization, which is that effected by the explorer who penetrates
into sparsely inhabited wilds such as those of the Australian
continent. Man is there, but in such small number (one to every 450
square miles!), and in so primitive and childlike a state, that he is
not a disturbing element, but simply one of the "fauna"--one of the
curious animals living there under the domination of Nature--not yet
"Nature's rebel," but submissive, unconscious, and a more fascinating
study for us than any other of her products. He shows us what manner
of men were our own remote ancestors. The hunters who have left their
flint implements in the earlier river gravels of Western Europe were
such men as these Australian natives now are. Naked, using only sticks
and chipped stones as implements and weapons, destitute of crops or
herds or habitations, wandering from place to place in keen search of
food--small animals, birds, lizards, and grubs--these Australians have
none of the arts of the most primitive among other races, excepting
that they can make fire and construct a canoe of the bark of trees.
They have not even the bow and arrow, but make use of spears and the
wonderful "boomerang" in hunting and fighting. They daub themselves
with a sort of white paint, and decorate their bodies with great
scars made by cutting gashes in the flesh with sharp stones, and
they dress their heads and faces and ceremonial wands with wool and
feathers, which they fix by the aid of an adhesive fluid always ready
to hand--namely, their own blood. I recently was present at a lecture
given to the Anthropological Institute in London by Professor Baldwin
Spencer, of Melbourne, with whom I was closely associated when he was
a student at Oxford thirty years ago. He has devoted many years to the
study of the Australian natives, and ten years ago published a most
valuable work describing his experiences amongst them, to which he has
recently added a further volume. He has lived with them in friendship
and intimacy in the remote wilderness of the Australian bush, and has
been admitted as a member of one of their mysterious clans, of which
the "totem," or supposed spirit-ancestor, is "the witchety grub"--a
kind of caterpillar. He has been freely admitted to their secret
ceremonies as well as to their more public "corroborees" or dances,
and has been able (as no one else has been), without annoyance or
offence to them, to take a great number of cinema-films of them in
their various dances or when cooking in camp or paddling and upsetting
their canoes, and climbing back again from the river. Many of these he
exhibited to us, and we found ourselves among moving crowds of these
slim-legged, beautifully-shaped wild men. The film presented some of
their strange elaborate dances, which soon will be danced no more.
These wild men die out when civilized man comes near them. It appears
that they really spend most of their time in dancing when not looking
for food or chipping stone implements, and that their dances are
essentially plays (like those of little children in Europe), the acting
of traditional stories relating the history of their venerated animal
"totem," which often last for three weeks at a time! Whilst dancing and
gesticulating they are chanting and singing without cessation, often
repeating the same words over and over again. Here, indeed, we have
the primitive human art, the emotional expression from which, in more
advanced races, music, drama, dancing, and decorative handicraft have
developed as separate "arts."

The most remarkable and impressive result was obtained when Professor
Baldwin Spencer turned on his phonograph records whilst the wild men
danced in the film picture. Then we heard the actual voices of these
survivors of prehistoric days--shouting at us in weird cadences,
imitating the cry of birds, and accompanied by the booming of the
bull-roarer (a piece of wood attached to a string, and swung rapidly
round by the performer). A defect, and at the same time a special
merit, of the cinema show of the present day is the deadly silence of
both the performers and the spectators. Screams and oaths are delivered
in silence; pistols are fired without a sound. One can concentrate
one's observation on the facial expression and movements of the actors
with undivided attention and with no fear of startling detonations.
And very bad they almost invariably are, except in films made by the
great French producers. On the other hand, I was astonished at the
intensity of the impression produced by hearing the actual voices of
those Australian wild men as they danced in rhythm with their songs.
To hear is a greater means of revelation than to see. One feels even
closer to those Australian natives as their strange words and songs
issue from imprisonment in the phonograph, than when one sees them
in the film pictures actually beating time with feet and hands and
imitating the movements of animals. To receive, as one sits in a London
lecture-room, the veritable appeal of these remote and inaccessible
things to both the eye and the ear simultaneously, is indeed the most
thrilling experience I can remember. With a feeling of awe, almost of
terror, we recognize as we gaze at and listen to the records brought
home by Professor Baldwin Spencer that we are intruding into a vast and
primitive Nature-reserve where even humanity itself is still in the
state of childhood--submissive to the great mother, without the desire
to destroy her control or the power to substitute man's handiwork for
hers.

CHAPTER IV

THE GREAT GREY SEAL

IT is always pleasing to find that intelligent care can be brought to
bear on the preservation of the rare and interesting animals which
still inhabit parts of these British Islands, though it is not often
that such care is actually exercised. Mr. Lyell (a nephew of the great
geologist Sir Charles Lyell) in April 1914 introduced a Bill into the
House of Commons which is called the Grey Seals (Protection) Bill. It
came on for consideration before the Standing Committee, was ordered to
be reported to the House without amendment, and has now passed into law.

The Great Grey Seal is a much bigger animal than the Common Seal, the
two species being the only seals which can be properly called "British"
at the present day, though occasionally the Harp Seal, or Greenland
Seal, and the Bladder-nosed Seal are seen in British waters, and may
emerge from those waters on to rocky shores or lonely sandbanks. The
Great Grey Seal is called "Halichœrus grypus" by zoologists, whilst
the Common Seal is known as "Phoca vitulina." The male of the former
species grows to be as much as 10 feet in length, whilst that of the
Common Seal rarely attains 5 feet. Both these seals breed on the
British coast. The Common Seal frequents the north circumpolar region,
being found on the northern coasts on both sides of the Atlantic,
and also on both sides of the Pacific, and even makes its way down
the coasts of France and Spain into the Mediterranean, where it is
rare. A few years ago one appeared on the beach at Brighton! It may
often be seen on the west coast of Scotland, of Ireland, Wales, and
Cornwall, where it breeds in caves. Its hairy coat is silky, and has a
yellowish-grey tint spotted with black and dark grey, most abundantly
on the back.

The Great Grey Seal does not occur in the Pacific, but is limited to
the northern shores on both sides of the Atlantic. Its coat is of a
more uniform greyish-brown colour than that of the Common Seal, and
when dried by exposure to the sun has a silvery-grey sheen. The Great
Grey Seal is a good deal rarer on our coasts than is the Common Seal.
It is now limited to the south, west, and north coasts of Ireland, to
the great islands on the West of Scotland, the Orkneys, the Shetlands,
and some spots on the east coast of Scotland. It is heard of as a rare
visitor to the Lincolnshire "Wash," the coasts of Norfolk, Cornwall,
and Wales. Some years ago (in 1883) I found a newly-born Grey Seal on
the shore of Pentargon Cove, near Boscastle, North Cornwall. It appears
that whilst (contrary to the statements of some writers) the Common
Seal produces its young most usually in caves or rock-shelters, the
Great Grey Seal chooses a remote sand island or deserted piece of open
shore for its nursery. The Common Seal gives birth to its young--a
single one or a pair--in June; the Great Grey Seal about the 1st of
September. While the young in both species is clothed when born in a
coat of long yellowish-white hair, this coat is shed in the case of
the Common Seal within twenty-four hours of birth, exposing the short
hair, forming a smooth, silky coat, as in the adult, and the young
at once takes to the water and swims. On the other hand, the long
yellowish-white coat of hair persists in the young of the Great Grey
Seal for six or seven weeks, during which time it remains on shore, and
refuses to enter the water. It is visited at sundown by the mother for
the purpose of suckling it. According to Mr. Lyell, this renders the
young of the Great Grey Seal peculiarly liable to attack by reckless
destructive humanity, and he accordingly proposes legislation to render
it a penal offence to destroy the young seals or the mothers during the
nursing season. It is estimated that the total number of Great Grey
Seals in Scottish waters has been reduced to less than 500, and that in
English and Irish waters the total is even less.

It has often been desired by naturalists that a check should be put
by the Legislature upon the wanton destruction of the common seal, as
well as of the grey seal. It is certainly a regrettable result of the
increased visitation of our remote rocky shores by holiday-makers,
so-called "sportsmen" and thoughtless ruffians of all kinds, that the
large, and perfectly harmless, grey seal is likely to be exterminated.
In former times in these islands, as to-day in more northern regions,
there was a regular "seal fishery," and vast numbers of seals were
annually slaughtered for the sake of their skins and fat. The fur
of both our native species, though differing vastly from the soft
under-fur of the fur-seals, or Otariæ, of the North Pacific--which
belong to a different section of the seal group, having small
external "ears," and hind feet which can be moved forward and used in
walking--is yet largely used for making gloves and thick overcoats.
To-day the number of British seals killed and brought to market is so
small that no local fishery interests would suffer were all protected
by the law during the spring and summer, when breeding and the rearing
of the young is in progress. There is even less reason for objecting to
the protection of the larger and rarer "Great Grey Seal," which, unless
it had been placed under the shelter of an Act of Parliament, would in
five or six years have ceased to be a denizen of the British Islands.

Owing to my having accidentally made the acquaintance of a young grey
seal, as mentioned above, in North Cornwall, I feel a special interest
in the legislative protection of this kind. I was at Boscastle at the
end of August, and was delighted to see there on the morning after
my arrival three or four of the common seal swimming in the little
rock-bound harbour. I was told by native authorities that there was
a cave in the rocks at the side of Pentargon Cove, a couple of miles
distant (formerly inaccessible from the cliffs), where these seals
breed, and that it had been the custom of some of the young men of
the district to go round there in a boat when wind and tide served in
the early spring and "raid" the cave. They could get in at low tide,
and, armed with heavy cudgels, they would attack the seals which were
congregated in the cavern to the number of thirty or forty. A single
well-delivered blow on the nose was sufficient, I was assured, to
kill a full-grown seal, and if fortunate the raiders might secure
ten or a dozen seals, which were then sold for their skins and oil
to Bristol dealers. The enterprise was dangerous on account of the
rising tide and the struggles of the seals and their assailants among
the slippery rocks and deep pools in the darkness of the cave. Cruel
and savage as the adventure was, it yet had its justification on a
commercial basis--similar to that claimed for other "fisheries" of the
great beasts of the sea hunted by man for their oil and skins. The
seals of this cave were undoubtedly the small common seal--the Phoca
vitulina--and I gathered that little had been heard of late years of
successful expeditions to these rocks. I was, however, told that a path
had been cut and ropes fastened to iron stanchions in the face of the
rocky cliffs of Pentargon Cove just before my visit to Boscastle, which
rendered it now comparatively easy to descend the 150 feet of rock from
the hill overlooking it and reach the shore of the curiously isolated
and enclosed cove.

So, with two companions--my sisters--I set off the next morning for
Pentargon Cove. We climbed down the face of the cliff by the aid of
the much-needed ropes and found ourselves on the shore, the tide being
low. We hoped that we should be able to get a view of the "seal-cave"
and some of its inhabitants swimming in its neighbourhood. We were
disappointed in this, and my companions hastened down to the water's
edge, in order to get as near as possible to the rocky sides of the
cove. I was about to follow them when I saw, lying in the open, on
the pebbles above high-tide mark, what I took at first for a white
fur cloak left there by some previous visitor. I walked up to it,
when, to my extreme astonishment, it turned round and displayed to my
incredulous gaze a pair of very large black eyes and a threatening
array of teeth, from which a defiant hiss was aimed at me. It was
a baby seal, covered all over with a splendid growth of white fur,
three inches deep. He was twice as big as the fur-covered young of
the common seal--more than two feet long--his black eyes were as big
as pennies, and he was lying there on the upper beach, far from the
water, in the full blaze of the sun, as dry and as "fluffy" as a
well-dressed robe of Polar bear's skin. We were indeed well rewarded
for our excursion in search of the seal's cave of Pentargon Cove! For
this was a new-born pup of the Great Grey Seal, entirely unconnected
with the inferior population of the inaccessible cave, laid here in the
open by his mother at birth (as is the habit of her species), little
suspecting that the long-secluded shore of Pentargon Cove had that year
been rendered accessible to marauding land-beasts for the first time.
Not knowing the peculiarities of the grey seal and the refusal of its
young to enter the water until six weeks after birth, when it sheds its
coat of long white hair, we cautiously rolled the little seal on to my
outspread coat and carried him to the water's edge. After the hissing
with which he had greeted my first approach he was not unfriendly or
alarmed, and for my part I must say that I have never yet stumbled upon
any free gift of Nature which excited my admiration and regard in an
equal degree. His eyes were beautiful beyond compare. We placed him
close to the water and expected him to wriggle into it and swim off,
but, on the contrary, he wriggled in the opposite direction, and slowly
made his way, by successive heaves, up the beach. He was not more than
a day or two old, as was shown by the unshrunken condition of the
umbilical cord. We did not like to leave him exposed to the attacks of
vagrant boys, who might climb down into the cove, so we carried him on
my coat to the shelter of some large rocks, a hundred yards along the
shore. There, with much regret, we left him.

But on the following evening, as we sat down to dinner, I heard from
some other visitors at the Wellington Inn, to whom, under pledge of
secrecy, I had confided our discovery, that they had been to Pentargon
Cove to visit our young friend, and found that he had been removed
(probably by his mother) back to the exact spot where we had found
him. They also stated that his presence there had become known in the
village, and that the conviction had been expressed that "the boys"
would certainly go and stone him to death! I had already reproached
myself for going elsewhere that day instead of to Pentargon Cove to
look after my young seal, and now I hastily left my dinner, procured in
the village two men and a potato sack, and hurried to Pentargon Cove.
As we approached the edge of the cliff the sun was setting, and the
cove was very still and suffused with a red glow. Then a weird sound
rent the air, like that made by one in the agonies of sea-sickness.
It was the little seal calling for his mother! It is the habit of the
females of this species to leave the shore during the day when they go
in search of the fish on which they feed, and to return to their young
in the evening, in order to suckle them. I could see, from above, my
baby friend--a little white figure all alone in the deepening gloom
of the great cliffs--raising his head and, by his cries, helplessly
inviting his enemies to come and destroy him. In a few minutes we were
down by his side, had placed him in the potato sack, and brought him to
the upper air. On the way to the inn I purchased a large-sized baby's
bottle with a fine indiarubber teat. We placed the little seal on straw
in a large open packing-case in the stables, whilst the kitchen-maid
warmed some milk and filled the feeding-bottle. Then I brought it to
him, looking down on his broad, white-furred head, with its wonderful
eyes, set so as to throw their appealing gaze upwards. I touched his
nose with the milky indiarubber teat. With unerring precision his lips
closed on it, his nostrils opened and shut in quick succession, and he
had emptied the bottle. I gave him a quart of milk before leaving him
and getting my own belated meal. He slept comfortably, but at four in
the morning his cries rent the air, and threatened to wake every one
in the hotel. I had to get up, descend to the kitchen, warm some more
milk for him, and satisfy his hunger. He became fond of the bottle,
and also of the friend who held it for him. I arranged to take him to
the Zoological Gardens when, after three days, I left Boscastle. He
travelled to London in the guard's van in a specially constructed cage,
and was as beautiful and happy as ever when I handed him over to the
superintendent at Regent's Park.

In those days (as it happened) there was little understanding or care
at "the Gardens" as to the feeding of an exceptional young animal
like my little seal. It is possible to treat cow's milk so as to
render it suitable to a young carnivore, much as it is "humanized" for
the feeding of human babies, and I was willing to pay for a canine
foster-mother were such procurable. I had then to leave London in
order to preside over one of the sections of the British Association's
meeting at Southport, and intended to take complete charge of my baby
seal upon my return. But in less than a week the neglectful guardians
at Regent's Park had killed him with stale cow's milk. I believe such
a foundling would have a better chance there to-day, but the rearing
of young mammals away from their mother is, of course, a difficult and
uncertain job.

I do not regret having taken the baby seal from Pentargon Cove, for I
undoubtedly saved him from a violent death, whilst his mother would
soon recover from the loss due to my action--a loss to which she and
her fellow "grey seal-mothers" must be not unfrequently exposed from
other causes. I do regret, however, that it did not occur to me until
too late that it would have been a wonderful experience to lie quietly
on the shore some few yards from the baby seal, as the sun set, and
then to see and hear the great seal-mother--7 or 8 feet long--swim
into the cove, raise her gigantic bulk on the shore, and heave herself
across the pebbles to her eager child. To witness the embraces,
caresses, and endearments of the great mysterious beast would have been
a revelation such as a naturalist values beyond measure. And so I hope,
with all my heart, that Mr. Lyell will succeed in his good work of
protecting the Great Grey Seal.

CHAPTER V

THE GROUSE AND OTHER BIRDS

IN August when so many people are either shooting or eating that
delectable bird--the grouse--a few words about him and his kind will
be seasonable. "Grouse" is an English word (said to have meant in its
original form "speckled"), and by "the" grouse we mean the British
red grouse, which, though closely related to the willow grouse,
called "rype" (pronounced "reepa") in Norway--a name applied also to
the ptarmigan--is one of the very few species of birds peculiar to
the British Islands. The willow-grouse turns white in winter, and is
often called the ptarmigan, which it is not, though closely related to
it. The willow-grouse inhabits a sub-arctic zone, which extends from
Norway across the whole continent of Europe and Asia, and through North
America, from the Aleutian Islands to Newfoundland. The red grouse
does not naturally occur beyond the limits of the British Islands.
It does not turn white in winter, and the back of the cock bird is
darker in colour, as is also the whole plumage of the hen bird, than
in the willow-grouse. The red grouse lives on heather-grown moors;
the willow-grouse prefers the shrubby growths of berry-bearing plants
interspersed with willows, whence its name. No distinction can be
discovered in the voice, eggs, build, and anatomical details of the two
species. The red grouse and the willow-grouse were, at no very distant
prehistoric period, one species, but the race which has become isolated
in these islands has just the small number of marked differences which
I have mentioned, and it breeds true, and therefore we call it a
distinct "species." In Scotland, the red grouse is called "muir-fowl,"
and a century ago was almost invariably spoken of in England as
moor-fowl, or moor-game. It is found on moors from Monmouthshire
northward to the Orkneys, and inhabits similar situations in Wales and
Ireland.

The red grouse and the willow-grouse belong to a section or "order" of
birds which are classified together because they all have many points
in common with "the common fowl" or jungle-cock and the pheasants.
That order or pedigree-branch was named by Huxley Alectoromorphæ,
or cock-like birds, perhaps more simply termed Galliformes, Gallus
being the Latin name for "chanticleer." When there is a question of
the groups recognized in the classification of animals, it is well to
bear in mind, once for all, that the biggest branches of the animal
pedigree are called "phyla" (or sub-kingdoms); that these have branches
or sub-divisions which are called "classes" (birds are a class of the
phylum Vertebrata). Classes divide into "orders"; these often are
subdivided into "sub-orders." Orders comprise each several smaller
branches called "families," families branch into "genera," and each
"genus" contains a number of "species" which have diverged from a
common ancestral form, and become more or less stable and unchanging
(but not unchangeable) at the present day. The individuals of a species
are distinguishable by certain marks, shape, and colour from the
individuals of other species of the genus. They breed true to those
points when in natural conditions, and show some differences of habit,
locality, and constitution which emphasize their distinction as a
separate "species."

The order Galliformes of the class Aves or birds is one of some
eighteen similar orders of birds. It contains several families, namely,
the grouse-birds, the partridges, the francolins (formerly introduced
into Italy from Cyprus), the quails, the pheasants, including the
common fowl or Gallus, the peacocks, the turkeys, and, lastly, the
guinea-fowls. The mound-builders and the South American curassows (very
handsome birds to be seen at the Zoological Gardens) are families which
have to be separated from the rest as a distinct sub-order. Fifty years
ago the pigeons were placed in one order with the galliform birds,
which was termed "Rasores," or scratching birds; but they are now
separated under the name Columbiformes.

All the galliform birds are specially agreeable to man as food, and
the domesticated race of the jungle-fowl--for which we have no proper
English name, except that of "the" fowl[1]--is second only to the dog
in its close association with man. It seems to have been domesticated
first in Burma, and was introduced into China about 1000 B.C., and
through Greece into Europe about 600 B.C. It is not mentioned in the
Hebrew Scriptures, nor by Homer, nor figured on ancient Egyptian
monuments. It was called "the Persian bird" by the Greeks, indicating
that it came to them from the Far East through Persia. The common or
barn-door fowl is assigned to the genus Gallus, of which there are
four wild species. It is very closely related to the pheasants (genus
Phasianus, with several "local" species); indeed, so closely that,
when pheasants and "fowls" are kept together in confinement they
will sometimes interbreed and produce vigorous hybrids. The peacocks
are Indian, and with them is associated the Malay Argus-pheasant.
They share with the turkeys, which are North American in origin, the
habit of "display" by the male birds when "courting"--a habit which
we see in a less marked form in the strutting, wing-scraping, and
cries of the pheasants, chanticleers, and grouse-birds. The various
species of partridges are confined to the temperate regions of the
Old World, but the word is wrongly applied in America and Australia
to other kinds of birds. The guinea-fowls are African, and so are the
francolins and quails, the latter migrating to the South of Europe. It
is an interesting fact that, when the turkey was first brought from
America, about 1550, a confusion grew up in Europe between it and
the guinea-fowl. The turkey was given a genus (Meleagris) to itself
by Linnæus, who called it "M. gallopavo," whilst the guinea-fowl was
called "Numida meleagris." We know, at present, other "species" of
Meleagris besides M. gallopavo, and other species of Numida.

[1] "Chanticleer" is the name given to the cock-bird of this species in
the very ancient story of "Renard the Fox."

Now we revert to the grouse-birds, a family for which the zoologist's
name is Tetraonidæ. They all have the beautiful crimson arch of
bare knobby skin above each eye which gives its chief beauty to our
grouse. The family contains several genera and included species. The
largest species is the capercailzie (a Gaelic word), or cock of the
wood, called by the French "coque du bois," by the Germans "auerhahn"
(auerhuhn for the hen bird), and by the Norwegians "tiur." It is
placed in the genus Tetrao (which gives its name to the "family"), and
receives the specific name "urogallus." This fine bird was formerly
native in England, as well as in Scotland and Ireland, and is found
in the pine forests of Europe from Spain to Lapland and Greece. It
has been re-established in Scotland since 1838. An allied species is
found in Siberia. The black grouse (often called black cock and grey
hen) is a second species of the genus Tetrao, namely, T. tectrix. It
is often called "Lyrurus tetrix." The French name for it is "coq de
bruyère"; the German is "birkhahn." It is a smaller bird than the
capercailzie, but frequently produces hybrids with that species. The
beautifully curled tail-feathers are favourite adornments for the hat
of mountaineers and hunters in the Tyrol and Switzerland.

Though the word "grouse" may have been first applied (as some think)
to the black cock, it is now the proper appellation of the red grouse.
This bird is placed by zoologists in the genus Lagopus--the members
of which are easily distinguishable from other Tetraonidæ by the fact
that their feet and toes are well covered with feathers. "L. scoticus"
is the scientific name of the red grouse. Being a purely British bird,
it has no foreign designations. "L. saliceti" is the name of the
allied willow-grouse, which has an endless variety of names, owing to
its great range of distribution. The willow-grouse is often called
ptarmigan, and is sold as such to the number of thousands by poulterers
in our markets, but it is not the true ptarmigan. Owing to the fact
that its plumage is quite white in winter, there is much excuse for the
confusion. The name "ptarmigan" is the Gaelic word "tarmachan," and
no one has explained how the initial "p" came to be added to it. The
bird called in Scotland tarmachan or ptarmigan is a third species of
Lagopus. It is much rarer in Scotland than the red grouse, and lives in
high, bare ground. It is numerous at an elevation far above the growth
of trees in Norway, and occurs also in the Pyrenees and the Alps. It
turns white in winter (as do all the species of Lagopus except the red
grouse), and differs in many features of structure from the red grouse
and the willow-grouse. It is called "L. mutus." A fourth species of
Lagopus is L. rupestris, of North America, Greenland, Iceland, and
Siberia. Spitzbergen has a fifth species, L. hemileucurus, a large
form. The sixth and smallest species of Lagopus is the L. leucurus of
the Rocky Mountains. There are yet further some excellent grouse-like
birds, which are separated to form other genera distinct from Lagopus.
Though they do not inhabit the British Islands, some of them are
brought occasionally to the London market. The hazel-hen of continental
Europe is one of these, and is considered to be the most delicate
game-bird that comes to table. It is placed in the genus Bonasa, and
receives the specific name "sylvestris." The French call it "gelinotte"
(under which name various kinds of cold-storage grouse are often
served in London clubs and restaurants), the Germans "hasel-huhn,"
and the Scandinavians "hjerpe." It is a purely forest bird. It is
represented in North America by four other species, of which the best
known is Bonasa umbellus, called by the Americans the ruffed grouse or
birch-partridge.

Another genus of Tetraonidæ, or grouse-birds, is called "Canachites,"
and contains the species known as the Canadian spruce-partridge,
Franklin's spruce-partridge, and the Siberian spruce-partridge. Nearly
allied to these is a genus Dendragapus, with three North American
species. Then we have the sage-cock of the plains of California
(Centrocerus urophasianus), three species of sharp-tailed grouse (genus
Pediocætes), and "the prairie hen," of which three species are placed
in the genus Tympanuchus. The United States have, undoubtedly, a great
variety of grouse-like birds. Nevertheless, a year ago I met in Paris
an American from the neighbourhood of Boston who told me that he should
have to desert his native land and come to live in Europe, because he
could not obtain a regular supply of game-birds for his table in the
eastern States. He was eating a Scotch grouse at the time with evident
satisfaction.

The supply of grouse in this country has been threatened by disease
caused by the attempt to make the moors carry more birds than they
would do under natural conditions. The number annually shot on British
moors is enormous. Predaceous animals have been destroyed in order
to increase the number of birds, but this proceeding has resulted in
allowing the weakly to survive. The undisturbed stretches of moorland
have also of late years been greatly broken into both by roads and
building, and by the too abundant visitation of strangers of all kinds.
Only a few years ago one moor-owner was able to boast that he had on
several occasions killed over 500 head of grouse in a single day on
his moor, and that in one season he and his guests had killed 18,231
head of grouse on that same moor! Personally I rejoice when grouse are
abundant, but it seems to me possible that the moor above mentioned had
been made to carry, so to speak, too heavy a crop. However, there is
reason to hope that the balance of Nature is restored after a few years
of disease, which kills off the too-abundant bird population.

CHAPTER VI

THE SAND AND PEBBLES OF THE SEASHORE

THE "beach" on our English coast is an accumulation of pebbles or of
sand, or of both, often accompanied by dead shells and other fragments
thrown up by the sea. Very generally it slopes rapidly from above
high-water mark to about half-tide limit, and then merges into a more
horizontal expanse of fine, compact sand. This last is not "a beach"
thrown up by waves, but a sediment or deposit. It forms a flat, often
ripple-marked plain (much has been written as to how those ripple-marks
are produced), which is exposed at low water, the sea retreating for
a quarter or even half a mile or more over it, on some level shores.
Sometimes, though rarely, the sea rises and falls against a hard, rocky
cliff without forming any beach or exposing any "shore" even at low
tide. This occurs on parts of the Cornish coast, where the Atlantic
beats against adamantine cliffs, which even at low tide rise sheer from
the water. Again, it sometimes happens that the shore is simply formed
of a terrace of sloping hard rock, without any "beach." But on the
coast of England generally there is a good beach of sand or pebbles, or
both, overlying the native rock or clay, and sometimes it is growing
every year, so as to extend the land surface seawards and add new acres
to the possessions of the landlord.

On other parts of the coast the beach "travels," being driven along
the underlying solid shore by the prevailing direction of the tidal
currents and by the waves. The sea-waves break close to the soft
cliffs of clay, sand, and sandstone. These are continually crumbling
away owing to the action of land water, which soaks from the surface
down to the layers of clay and forms subterranean springs and streams.
They undermine the face of the cliff and cause the upper parts to
topple. When there is a big, broad, growing beach in front of such
a cliff, the breaking down or "toppling" of its face only leads to
the formation of a slope (at the "angle of rest"), and things remain
but little changed for ages. But if the beach is not being piled up
and added to and growing out seawards year by year, and is, on the
contrary, a travelling beach, then the sea comes close up to the cliff,
and when masses of it topple on to the beach the sea washes them away,
and no "slope of repose" is formed. The cliff keeps on toppling as it
is undermined by springs of land water. Its natural buttress against
further breakage--namely, its own fallen material--instead of resting
against it as a great sloping, protective bank, is washed away by the
sea as fast as it falls, and is carried down the coast by the tidal
currents. This is the story of "coast erosion" about which there has
recently been a Government inquiry. Where the combined action of
prevailing winds and sea currents is throwing up and adding to the
beach there is no coast erosion. The causes of the sea currents on
our coasts are not easy to determine, as they are connected with the
general contour of the land and the currents in large tracts of sea,
such as the Channel and the North Sea. Coast erosion is a serious
thing. Large parts of the coast of Suffolk and Norfolk are being thus
washed away. It can be prevented by "holding" the beach with piles and
boarding, but this costs too much to make it worth doing unless the
land so preserved has a special value for the erection of houses.

At Felixstowe, where I am writing, the sea has swept away most of the
flat--the "dunes," or "deans"--covered with grass, which it had itself
built up by a contrary accumulating action before the time of the
Romans. On this flat the ancient Roman town was built. Why the sea has
reversed its action is very difficult to say. But within my knowledge
of this place high-water mark has advanced as much as 300 yards
nearer than it was to the old roadway and to old houses. The great
town of Dunwich, which in the Middle Ages had eleven churches, strong
fortifications, and a flourishing trade, stood on the flat grass-land
in front of the cliff on the Suffolk coast. Its site is now under the
sea, not far from here. The breaking away of the cliff (on to which
part of the town extended) is still going on there. A few years ago I
saw a great bricked well lying like a fallen chimney on the shore. It
had been exposed by the crumbling of the cliff, and at last fell out
of it. Once that well supplied fresh water to the monastery, part of
the walls of which are still standing, and were formerly three-quarters
of a mile distant from the seashore. The prehistoric cliffs to which
the sea came before it formed the flats or links which it is now again
eating away, are often traceable a mile or two inland. On the other
hand, on parts of the Lincolnshire coast the sea has piled up sand and
shingle and added valuable land to the extent of hundreds of acres to
the property of those whose estates were bounded by the shore line,
and is still doing so. Perhaps the action of the north wind in blowing
back and piling up sand out of the reach of the tide is influential in
producing this increase of shore-lands, which face northwards. Blown
sand forms hills 30 feet and more in height on such flat lands as those
of the Sandwich and Deal "links," which have been thrown up by the sea
since St. Augustine landed at Richborough, then a seaport, now a couple
of miles from the sea. On the French coast near Boulogne the sand has
been blown inland so as to form stratified deposits on the low hill
country as far as 3 or 4 miles from the sea, and the neighbouring port
of Ambleteuse, which five hundred years ago had the chief trade with
England--is now nothing but a vast stratified "dune" of blown sand. The
great Napoleon made some attempt to reopen the harbour, but gave it up
as a bad job; the blowing of sand inwards from the enormous tract of
flat, sandy shore was too much for his engineers.

The "erosion" and the contrary process of the "extension" of the
coast by the action of the waves and currents of the sea must be kept
apart and distinguished from a process leading to similar but not
identical results, namely, the actual "crumpling" or "buckling" of
the earth's crust, leading to the rising of the land surface in some
parts of the globe relatively to the sea-level, and on the other hand
to the sinking of the land beneath the sea in other regions. This
change of the actual level of the land has continually gone on in the
past, and is continually going on to-day. What are called "raised
beaches" are seen on many parts of the coast. These are lines of
ancient beach, consisting of sea-worn pebbles, fragments of shell,
etc., forming terraces along the face of the rocks which rise from the
present seashore--terraces which are now 15, 30, or more feet above
the sea-level, although they must at no very distant period have been
at the level of the sea. The land has risen and carried them up out
of reach of the waves. Such a raised beach is seen along the rocks
bordering Plymouth Sound, at a height of some 15 feet (so far as I can,
at this moment, remember) above high-water mark. Owing to the fact
that the rock is limestone, and is dissolved and redeposited by rain
water, as a rock of sugar might be, the pebbles and shells of the old
beach are all stuck together or "petrified" by redeposited limestone
(carbonate of lime). Lumps of it can be carried away as specimens.

Geological deposits of much older date than these comparatively recent
raised beaches tell us of the rising of great masses of land. Thus,
for instance, marine shells in a deposit not quite so old as our chalk
cliffs and downs, are present at a height of 10,000 feet, forming part
of the Alps. At one time that very spot was the bottom of the ocean,
whilst other tracts of the earth's surface, now sunk hundreds of
fathoms below the sea-level, stood out as continents, with hills and
valleys well raised above the waters. Direct evidence of the recent
sinking of the coast as distinct from its erosion is not familiar to
us in England. The evidence of it is naturally obliterated, as the
sinking goes on, whereas on a rising coast the evidence is as naturally
preserved. But on the shores of the Mediterranean near Naples the
evidence of sinking is well preserved, and has been carefully studied
and recorded. The ancient Roman road is still sunk beneath the water,
though the celebrated temple of Puteoli, which was formerly submerged
by the sinking of the land, has reappeared by a subsequent elevation of
the same area. This has not brought the site to so high a level as it
had when the temple was built, as appears from the fact that the Roman
paved roadway close by is still some 15 feet below the surface of the
sea.

A beach is built up of water-worn pebbles, consisting usually of bits
of the rock of the immediate vicinity, which have become rounded and
shaped by continually rolling and knocking against one another as the
waves of the sea throw them up or drag them down the sloping heap of
like pebbles which is accumulated near high-water line. At Dover and
such places, under chalk cliffs, the beach consists of chalk pebbles
oval in shape, often of 8 or 9 inches in length, with a large number
of well-rounded flint pebbles as big as your fist interspersed, or
outnumbering the chalk pebbles. At Tenby, in South Wales, the beach
consists of assorted sizes of limestone pebbles, well-worn bits of
the limestone cliffs of the neighbourhood. Large numbers of them are
literally "worm-eaten," being bored into, hard and dense as they are,
by a little marine worm (known as Polydora), which may be sometimes
found alive and at work in these limestone pebbles lying between tide
limits, or more easily at other places in similarly placed chalk blocks
or pebbles. On a coast bounded by granite cliffs you get a beach of
granite pebbles; where there are cliffs of slate or of sandstone,
pebbles of slate or of sandstone.

But there are some beaches which, as remarked above, are continually
travelling along the coast. That on the English shores of the North
Sea, for instance, is always moving southwards, except where it is held
by piles and breakwaters, locally called "shies." Moreover, the land of
the East Coast, especially the Suffolk and Norfolk coast, in the course
of its erosion, has given back to the sea old deposits of the glacial
and post-glacial period, consisting of gravels and "drift," made up of
flint pebbles and fragments of rocks from the more northern regions
over which the great European ice-cap of the glacial epoch extended,
and from which it ground and tore the surface rock and carried large
and small masses--boulders and incredible millions of tons of broken
up fragments--and spread them over East Anglia (where they form the
so-called "glacial drift"), and over regions still submerged in the
North Sea. Consequently the beach on the Suffolk seashore has a
specially variegated assortment of pebbles from all sorts of more
northerly situated rocks--though small flint pebbles, derived directly
from glacial drift and by the drift from the chalk land-surface (the
chalk itself not now reaching the shore-line of East Anglia), are
greatly predominant. It is in the chalk that flint takes its origin,
being found there as large irregular nodules and sheets.

CHAPTER VII

THE CONSTITUENTS OF A SEABEACH

I ONCE went down to Aldeburgh, on the Suffolk coast, with a party of
friends, which included an American writer, himself as delightful and
charming as his stories. Why should I not give his name? It was Cable,
the author of "Old Creole Days." We walked through the little town
to the sea-front, and came upon the immense beach spreading out for
miles towards Orford Ness. "Well, I never!" said he to me; "I suppose
the hotel people have put those stones there to make a promenade for
the visitors. It's a big thing." It took me some time to persuade him
that they were brought there by the sea and spread out by it alone.
It was his first visit to Europe, but he had seen the seashore on the
other side, and there was nothing like this over there, he declared. A
similar readiness to ascribe Nature's handiwork to the enterprise of
hotel-keepers led a visitor to the Bel Alp, in the Rhone Valley, when
he looked down from that high-placed hostelry on to the great Aletsch
glacier, with its central "moraine" of huge rock masses and debris,
to exclaim, "I see the proprietor has spread a cinder-path along the
glacier to prevent us from slipping. It's a convenience, no doubt, but
gives a nasty dirty look to the snow." Mr. Cable, when he once realized
that the great Aldeburgh beach was a natural production, did what a
true poet and naturalist must do--he fell in love with it, and spent
hours in filling his pockets with strange-looking pebbles of all kinds
until he was brought into the house to dinner by main force, when he
spread his collection on the table, and demanded an explanation of
"what, whence, and why" in regard to each pebble. Our companions--a
great lawyer, a military hero, a politician, and two "learned
men"--regarded him as eccentric, not to say childish. But I entirely
sympathized with him, and when next day we sailed down to Orford and
stood in front of the old Norman fortress, he further established
himself in my regard by deeply sighing and exclaiming, "So that is a
real English castle!" whilst several large tears quietly streamed down
his undisturbed countenance.

To give an idea of what various rocks from far-distant localities may
be brought together on an East Coast beach, take that of Felixstowe
as an example. What is true of the East Coast is to some extent also
true of the South Coast, and, indeed, wherever the sea makes the
pebbles of a modern beach from the materials furnished by the breaking
up of old deposits, which were in their day brought by ice-flows or
torrential currents from remote regions. The most abundant kind of
pebbles on the Felixstowe beach are small, rounded, somewhat flat
pieces of flint, derived not directly from the chalk which is the
"stratum" or "bed" in which flint is originally formed, but from
the Red Crag capping the clay cliffs (London clay or early Eocene),
and also from surface washings and "gravels" (of later age than the
crag) farther north, whence they have travelled southward with many
other constituents of the beach. All these flints are stained ruddy
brown or yellow by iron--a process they underwent when lying in the
gravels or in the crag in which they were deposited as pebbles,
broken, washed, and rolled ages ago from the chalk. The iron is in
a high state of oxidation, and stains not only flint pebbles but
the sands of the Red Crag and later gravels a bright orange-red, or
sometimes a less ruddy yellow. The iron comes originally from very
ancient igneous rocks in which it is black and usually combined with
silica. The chalk flints are always, owing, it seems, to minute
quantities of carbon, quite black in the mass, but thin, translucent
splinters have a yellowish-brown tint. The flints are free from iron
stain when taken direct from the chalk. The commonest pebble next to
flint is milky quartz, or opaque white quartz. This is derived from
some far northern source, where there are igneous rocks traversed
by veins of this substance (perhaps Norway). Quartz, like flint, is
pure silica, the oxide of the element silicon. It appears in another
form as rock-crystal, and also as chalcedony and agate. Opal also
is pure silica, but differs from quartz and its varieties in being
non-crystalline or amorphous, and in being less hard and of less
specific gravity than quartz. Opal is soluble in alkaline water
containing free carbonic acid, such as are many natural waters and the
sea! But quartz is not so. The siliceous "spicules" and skeletons of
many microscopic animals and plants are "opal." The gem known as "opal"
is a variety owing its beauty to minute fissures in its substance which
break up light into the prismatic colours.

A great deal rarer than the milky quartz, but well known on the East
Coast on account of their beauty, and often sought for to be cut
and polished, are the small rolled bits or pebbles of chalcedony or
agate, which have been bedded before their appearance on the beach
in some of the pre-glacial or post-glacial gravels, together with
the flints, and in consequence are often stained of a fine red. Such
clear red-stained chalcedony is called "carnelian"; if the banded
agate structure shows, it is called agate rather than carnelian. It is
wonderful how many beautiful pieces of both carnelian and agate are
picked up on the Felixstowe beach, rarely, however, bigger than a hazel
nut. The original source of these carnelians and agates is the East of
Scotland. At Montrose you may see the igneous rock containing pale,
lavender-coloured agate nodules as big as a potato, the breaking and
rolling of which by the sea into small bits has furnished our Suffolk
carnelians. Quartzite--more or less translucent, sandy-looking pebbles,
colourless or yellow: jasper, black or green with red veining: a fine
wine-red or purple stone often veined with quartz--are all more or
less common, and come from northern igneous rocks--possibly some from
Scandinavia and some from the breaking up of an ancient "breccia" of
the Triassic age, which still exists northwards of East Anglia.

Other pebbles very common on this shore are those formed in a curious
way by the sea-water from the clay cliffs and sea bottom which are here
present, and are of that special geologic age and character known as
the London clay. The sea at this moment is continually converting the
clay of our Suffolk shore into "cement-stone" by a definite chemical
process. The clay and many other things submerged in the sea, as
Shakespeare knew, "undergo a sea-change." The cement-stone used to be
dredged up from the sea bottom and ground to make cement at Harwich.
Great rock-like slabs of it pave the shore at low water, and pebbles
of it are abundant. The curious thing is that ages ago--geological
ages, I mean--when the sea was throwing up here the old shell-banks
and sand-banks known nowadays as "the Red and Coralline Crags," the
London clay cliffs and clay sea bottom were in existence just as they
are now. But in that period there existed here enormous quantities
of bones of whales of kinds now extinct, which had lived a little
earlier in the sea of this area, and were deposited in vast quantity
as a sort of first layer of beach or shallow water sea-drift. Bones
consist largely of phosphate of lime, and are used as manure. In that
old crag sea the phosphate of lime was dissolved from the deposit of
bones, and as we find occurring in the case of other clays and other
bones elsewhere--was chemically taken up by the clay--the same kind of
clay which to-day is being converted into "cement-stone." It was thus,
at that remote period, converted into "clay phosphorite," owing to the
presence of the immense deposit of whales' bones, and it has been known
for sixty years as Suffolk "coprolite," owing to a mistaken notion
that it was the petrified dung of extinct animals. It has been dug up
by the ton from below the crag all over this part of Suffolk, where it
forms, together with bones, teeth, flints, and box-stones, a bed of
small nodules, a foot or so thick separating the London clay from the
shelly "crag." This bed is called the Suffolk bone-bed or nodule-bed.
The phosphorite, or "coprolite," occurs in the form of bits of clay,
hardened by phosphate of lime, and of the colour of chocolate, and
hundreds of tons of it have been used by manufacturers of the manure
known as "superphosphate." Henslow, of Cambridge, Darwin's friend and
teacher, was the first to point out its value. Bits of it, as well
as box-stones, and fragments of bone, teeth of whales, of sharks, of
mastodon, rhinoceros, tapir, and other extinct animals--all fallen from
the bone-bed in the cliff--are found mixed with the pebbles of the
Suffolk beach by those who lie on that beach in the sunshine, and, for
want of something better to do, turn over handful after handful of its
varied material. And, besides all the stones I have already mentioned,
they find amber, washed here by some mysterious currents from the
Baltic, wonderful fossil shells out of the crag, the cameo shell, and
the great volute,--shells which are as friable as the best pastry
when dug out of the Red Crag, but here on the shore become hardened
by definite chemical action of the sea-water, so as to be as firm as
steel. Here, too, the "chiffonier" of the seashore finds recent shells,
recent bones (slowly dissolving and wearing away), well-rounded bits
of glass, jet drifted down from Whitby, Roman coins, bits of Samian
ware (!), mediaeval keys, bits of coal, burnt flints (from steamers'
furnaces), and box-stones.

A very important and interesting thing about "beaches" is the way in
which the pebbles of which they consist are assorted in sizes. Suppose
that one prepares a trough some two or three yards long and twelve
inches deep, and lets it fill with water from a constantly running tap,
tilting it slightly so that the water will overflow and run away at the
end farthest from the tap. Then if one drops into the trough near the
tap handful after handful of coarse sand and small stones of varied
sizes, they will be carried along by the stream, and the more rapid and
voluminous the stream the farther they will be carried. But they will
eventually sink to the bottom of the trough, the bigger pieces first,
then the medium-sized, then the small, and the smaller in order, as the
current carries them along, so that one gets a separation and sorting
of the solid particles according to size, a very fine sediment being
deposited last of all at the far end of the trough. The waves of the
sea are continually stirring up and assorting the constituents of the
beach in this way. Usually the largest pebbles are thrown up farthest
by the advancing waves, and dropped soonest by the backward suck of
the retreating water, so that one generally finds a predominance of
big pebbles at the top of the beach. But on the flat shore of firm
ripple-marked sand lying lower down than the sloping "beach" and only
exposed at quite "low tide," one often finds very big pebbles of eight
or nine pounds weight scattered here and there and little rubbed or
rounded. They have gradually moved down the sloping beach and are too
heavy to be thrown back again by the waves of the shallow sea which
flows over the flat shores characteristic of much of our south-eastern
and southern coast. On some parts of the coast huge banks, consisting
exclusively of enormous pebbles as big as a quartern loaf, are piled
up by the waves, forming a great ridge often miles in length, as at
the celebrated Chesil pebble bank near Weymouth, and at Westward Ho!
in North Devon. The presence of these specially large pebbles is due
to the special character of the rocks which are broken up by the sea
to form them, and to the specially powerful wave-compelling winds and
tidal currents at the parts of the coast where they are produced.

One generally finds a selected accumulation of moderate-sized pebbles
lower down the beach as the tide recedes, and then still lower down
patches of sand alternating with patches or tracts of quite small
pebbles not much bigger than a dried pea. They are always assorted in
sizes, but the extent of each tract of a given size of pebble varies
greatly on different beaches along the coast, and even from day to day
on the same shore. The greater or less violence of the waves, and of
the currents caused by wind and tide, is the cause of this variation
and local difference. The pebbles of the "beach" are, of course, always
being worn away, rounded and rubbed down by their daily movement upon
one another, caused by the waves as the tide mounts and again descends
over the shore. Even the biggest stones, excepting those which lie
in deeper water beyond the beach, are eventually rubbed down, and
become quite small; but a point is reached when, the weight of the
pebbles being very small, they have but little effect in rubbing down
each other, and consequently where the pebbles consist of very hard
material--like flints--the smallest ones are not so much rounded, but
are angular and irregular in shape.

Whilst a perfect gradation in size can be found from the largest flint
pebbles some 6 inches or 7 inches long to the smallest, usually not
bigger than a split pea (though sometimes a patch of even smaller
constituents may be found), there is a real break or gap between
"pebbles" and "sand." I am referring now to what is commonly known as
"sand" on the southern part of the East Coast, much of the South Coast,
and the shores of Holland, Belgium, and France. There are "sands" of
softer material (limestone and coral sand), but the sands in question
are almost entirely siliceous, made up of tiny fragments of flint, of
quartz, agate, and hard, igneous rock. They are often called "sharp"
sand. The particles forming this sand are sorted out by the action of
moving water, and form large tracts between tide-marks looking like
brown sugar, for which baby visitors have been known to mistake them,
and accordingly to swallow small handfuls. The strong wind from the
sea blows the sand thus exposed, as it dries, inland out of reach of
the tide, to form sand-dunes, and it is also deposited, together with
still finer particles (those called "mud"), on the shallower parts
of the sea bottom. The curious thing about the particles of "sharp"
sand is that they are angular, and for the most part without rounded
edges. If you examine them under a microscope you will see that they
do not look like pebbles--in fact, they are not pebbles, for they are
so small and have so little weight, or, rather, mass, that they do not
rub each other to any effect when moved about in water. They look like,
and, in fact, are, for the most part broken bits of silica, unworn
and sharp-edged splinters and chips, glass-like in their transparency
and most of them colourless, a few only iron-stained and yellow.
Amongst these are a few rounded, almost spherical pieces, which are no
doubt of the nature of minute water-worn pebbles. Although these few
minute pebbles exist among the sharp, chiplike particles of "sand,"
it is clear that we must broadly distinguish "pebbles" of all sizes
down to the smallest--from the much smaller "sand particles." There
is no intermediate quality of material between "sand" and the finest
"shingle."

CHAPTER VIII

QUICKSANDS AND FIRE-STONES

THERE are curious facts about sand which can be studied on the
seashore. There are the "quicksands," mixtures of sand and water, which
sometimes engulf pedestrians and horsemen at low tide, not only at
the Mont St. Michel, on the Normandy coast, but at many spots on the
English, Welsh, and Scotch coasts. Small and harmless quicksands are
often formed where the sand is not firmly "bedded" by the receding sea,
and the sea-water does not drain off, but forms a sort of sand-bog.
Then one may also study the polishing and eroding effect of dry blown
sand, which gives a "sand-glaze" to flints, and in "sand-deserts" often
wears away great rocks. The natural polishing of flints and other
hard bodies by fine sand carried over them for months and years in
succession by a stream of water, is also a matter of great interest,
about which archæologists want further information.

A very interesting fact about the ordinary sand of the seashore is
that two pints of dry sand and half a pint of water when mixed do not
make two pints and a half, but less than that quantity. If you fill a
child's pail with dry sand from above the tide-mark, and then pour on
to it some water, the mass of sand actually shrinks. The reason is that
when the sand is dry there is air between its particles, but when the
sand-particles are wetted they adhere closely to each other; the air is
driven out, and the water does not exactly take an equivalent space,
but occupies less room than the air did, owing to the close clinging
together of the wet particles. If you add a little water to some dry
sand under the microscope, you will see the sand-particles move and
cling closely to one another. "Capillary attraction"--the ascent of
liquid in very fine tubes or spaces--is a result of the same sort of
adhesive action. If you walk on the firm, damp sand exposed at low tide
on many parts of the seashore when it is just free from water on the
surface, you will see that when you put your foot down the sand becomes
suddenly pale for some seven inches or so all round your foot. The
reason is that the water has left the pale-looking sand (dry sand looks
paler than wet sand), and has gone into the sand under your foot, which
is being squeezed by your weight. The water passing into that squeezed
sand enables its particles to sit tighter or closer together, and so
to yield to the pressure caused by your weight. You actually squeeze
water "into" the sand, instead of squeezing water "out" of it, as is
usually the case when you squeeze part of a wet substance--say a cloth
or a sponge. When you lift your foot up, you find that your footmark is
covered with water--the water you had drawn to that particular spot by
squeezing it. It separates as soon as the pressure is removed.

Quartz and quartzite pebbles occur on the South as well as the East
Coast. They are sometimes called "fire-stones," because they can
be made to produce flashes of flame. If you take a couple of these
pebbles, each about as big as the bowl of a dessert-spoon (a couple of
flint pebbles will serve, but not so well), and holding one in each
hand in a dark room, or at night, scrape one with the other very
firmly, you will produce a flash of light of an orange or reddish
colour. And at the same time you will notice a very peculiar smell,
rather agreeable than otherwise, like that of burning vegetable matter.
It would seem that the rubbing together of the stones produces a fine
powder of some of the siliceous substance of the stone and at the
same time a very high temperature, which sets the powder aflame. I
had the idea at one time, based on the curious smell given out by the
flashing pebbles, that perhaps it was a thin coating of vegetable or
other organic matter derived from the sea-water which burns when the
stones are thus rubbed together; but I found on chemically cleaning
my pebbles, first with strong acid and then with alkali, that the
flame and the smell were produced just as well by these chemically
clean stones as by those taken from the beach. The flame produced
by the rubbing of the two stones seemed then to be like the sparks
obtained by strike-a-lights of flint and steel, or the prehistoric
flint and pyrites. Now, however, a new fact demands consideration. The
supposition that the powdered silica formed, when one rubs the two
pebbles together, is actually "burnt," that is to say, combined with
the oxygen of the air by the great heat of the friction, is rendered
unlikely by the fact that if you perform the rubbing operation in a
basin of water with the stones submerged, the flash is produced as
easily as in the air. My attention was drawn to this fact by a letter
from the well-known naturalist the Rev. Reginald Gatty. I at once tried
the experiment and found the fact to be as my correspondent stated. Not
only so, but the smell was produced as well as the flash.

With the desire to get further light on the subject, I consulted
the great experimental physicist, my friend Sir James Dewar, in his
laboratory at the Royal Institution. He told me that the late Professor
Tyndal used to exhibit the production of flame by the friction of two
pieces of quartz in his lectures on heat, but made use of a very large
and rough crystal of quartz (rock-crystal) and rubbed its rough surface
with another large crystal. Tyndal's note on the subject in his lecture
programme was as follows (Juvenile Lectures on Heat, 1877-78): "When
very hard substances are rubbed together light is produced as well as
heat." Sir James Dewar kindly showed me the crystals used by Tyndal,
the larger was 16 inches long and 4 or 5 inches broad. We repeated the
experiment in the darkened lecture room, and obtained splendid flashes.
The same smell is produced when rock-crystal is used as when flint or
quartz pebbles are rubbed together. All three are the same chemical
body, namely, silica (oxide of silicon). We also found that when the
crystals were bathed with water or (this is a new fact) with absolute
alcohol, the same flashing was produced by the friction of one against
the other.

Later, with the kind assistance of Mr. Herbert Smith, of the mineral
department of the Natural History Museum, I examined, with a
spectroscope, the flash given by two quartzite pebbles when rubbed
together. No distinctive lines or bands were seen; only a "continuous"
spectrum, showing that the temperature produced was not high enough to
volatilize the silicon. I also examined some pebbles of another very
hard substance--nearly as hard as silica (rock-crystal, quartz, and
flint). This was what is called "corundum," the massive form of "emery
powder" (oxide of aluminium). By grinding two of these corundum pebbles
with very great pressure one against the other (using much greater
pressure than is needful in the case of quartz), I obtained flashes
of light. It was not known previously that any pebbles except those
of silica would give flashes of light when rubbed together. A smell
resembling that given out by rubbed quartz, but fainter, was observed.

Those are the facts--new to me and to many others--about this curious
subject. The flashing under water is a very remarkable thing. I cannot
say that I am yet satisfied as to the nature of the flash. A simple
explanation of the result obtained, when two dry pebbles are rubbed
together in the air, is that crushed particles of the quartz or of
the corundum are heated by the heavy friction to the glowing point.
But this does not accord with the fact that submergence in a liquid
does not interfere with the flashing. The rise of temperature would
certainly be checked by the liquid. And the curious smell produced is
in no way explained.

The breaking of crystals is in many instances known to produce a
flash of light. Thus a lump of loaf sugar broken in the dark gives a
faint flash of blue light, as anyone can see for himself immediately
on reading this. White arsenic crystals also, when broken by shaking
the liquid in which they have formed, give out flashes of light. Some
rare specimens of diamond, when rubbed in the dark with a chamois
leather, glow brightly. The well-known mineral called Derbyshire spar,
"Blue John," or fluoride of calcium, when heated to a point much below
that of a red-hot iron, "crackles" and glows briefly with a greenish
light. The crystals of phosphate of lime, called apatite, and a number
of other crystals have this property. But there is no record of any
peculiar smell accompanying the flashes of light. It is still a matter
open to investigation as to whether the flashing of pieces of quartz
and rock-crystal when rubbed together with heavy pressure is of the
nature of the flashing of the heated crystals of other minerals, or
whether there is any chemical action set up by the friction--an action
which is certainly suggested by the very peculiar smell produced.
Since the flashing can be produced under water and other liquids, it
should be easy to obtain some evidence as to the chemical nature of the
flame--whether acid or alkaline, whether capable of acting on this or
that reagent dissolved in the water, and whether setting free any gas
of one kind or another.

Any one of my readers who chooses can produce the wonderful
orange-coloured flame by rubbing two quartz or flint pebbles together
in the dark, and can have the further gratification of producing with
the utmost ease the mysterious and weird phenomenon of a flame under
water, and may, perhaps, by further experiment, explain satisfactorily
this unsolved marvel which has haunted some of us since childhood.

CHAPTER IX

AMBER

AMBER is not unfrequently picked up among the pebbles of the East
Coast. I once picked up a piece on the beach at Felixstowe as big
as a turkey's egg, thinking it was an ordinary flint-pebble and
intending to throw it into the sea, when my attention was arrested
by its extraordinary lightness, and I found that I had got hold of
an unusually large lump of amber. There is a locality where amber
occurs in considerable quantity. It is a long way off--namely, the
promontory called Samland near Königsberg on the Prussian shore of
the Baltic. There it occurs with fossil wood and leaves in strata of
early Tertiary age, deposited a little later than our "London clay."
It used to be merely picked up on the shore there until recent times,
when "mining" for it was started. From this region (the Baltic coast
of Prussia) amber was carried by the earliest traders in prehistoric
times to various parts of Europe. Their journeyings can be traced
by the discovery of amber beads in connexion with interments and
dwelling-places along what are called "amber routes" radiating from
the amber coast of Prussia. To reach the East Coast of England the
bits of amber would have to be carried by submarine currents. Amber
travels faster and farther than ordinary stones, on account of its
lightness. What has been held to be amber is found, also embedded in
ancient Tertiary strata, in small quantity in France, in Sicily, in
Burma, and in green sand (below the chalk) in the United States. The
Sicilian amber (called "Simetite") was not known to the ancients: it is
remarkable for being "fluorescent," as is also some recently discovered
in Southern Mexico. But it is possible that chemically these substances
are not quite the same as true amber. Amber is a fossil resin or
gum, similar to that exuded by many living trees, such as gum-copal.
It has been used as an ornament from prehistoric times onwards, and
was greatly valued by the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans, and by our
Anglo-Saxon ancestors, not only for decorative purposes, but as a
"charm," it being supposed to possess certain magical properties.

Amber (it is generally believed) comes slowly drifting along the sea
bottom to the Suffolk shore from the Baltic. Lumps as big as one's
fist are sometimes picked up here. The largest pieces on record found
on the Baltic shore, or dug out of the mines there, are from 12 to 18
lb. in weight, and valued at £1000. A party sent by the Emperor Nero
brought back 13,000 lb. of amber from the Baltic shores to Rome. The
bottom currents of seas and oceans, such as those which possibly bring
amber to our shores, are strangely disposed. The Seigneur of Sark
some fifty years ago was shipwrecked in his yacht near the island of
Guernsey; he lost, among other things, a well-fastened, strongly-made
chest, containing silver plate. It was found a year later in deep water
off the coast of Norway and restored to him! In the really deep sea,
over 1000 fathoms down, there are well-marked broad currents which
may be described as rivers of very cold water (only four degrees or
so above freezing-point). They flow along the deep sea bottom and are
sharply marked off from the warmer waters above and to the side. Their
inhabitants are different from those of the warmer water. They are
due to the melting of the polar ice, the cold water so formed sinking
at once owing to its greater density below the warmer water of the
surface currents. These deep currents originate in both the Arctic and
Antarctic regions, and the determination of their force and direction,
as well as of those of other ocean currents, both deep and superficial,
such as the warm "Gulf Stream," which starts from the Gulf of Mexico,
and the great equatorial currents, is a matter of constant study and
observation, in which surveying ships and skilled observers have been
employed.

Amber has not only been valued for its beauty of colour--yellow,
flame-colour, and even deep red and sometimes blue--for its
transparency, its lightness, and the ease with which it can be carved,
but also on account of certain magical properties attributed to it.
Pliny, the great Roman naturalist of the first century A.D., states
that a necklace of amber beads protects the wearer against secret
poisoning, sorcery, and the evil eye. It is first mentioned by Homer,
and beads of it were worn by prehistoric man. Six hundred years B.C., a
Greek observer (Thales) relates that amber when rubbed has the power of
attracting light bodies. That observation is the starting-point of our
knowledge of electricity, a name derived from the Greek word for amber,
"electron." In Latin, amber is called "succinum." By heating in oil
or a sand-bath, amber can be melted, and the softened pieces squeezed
together to form larger masses. It can also be artificially stained,
and cloudy specimens are rendered transparent by heating in an oil-bath.

Amber is the resinous exudation of trees like the "Copal gum" of East
Africa and the "Kauri resin" or "Dammar" of New Zealand. Both of these
products are very much like amber in appearance, and can be readily
mistaken for it. The trees which produced the amber of the Baltic were
conifers or pine trees, and flourished in early Tertiary times (many
millions of years ago). Their leaves, as well as insects of many kinds,
which have been studied and named by entomologists, are found preserved
in it. There is a very fine collection of these insects in the Natural
History Museum in London. It is probable that more than one kind of
tree produced the amber-gum, and that its long "fossilization" has
resulted in some changes in its density and its chemical composition.
The East African copal is formed by a tree which belongs to the same
family as our beans, peas, and laburnum. It is obtained when freshly
exuded, but the best kind is dug by the negroes out of the ground,
where copal trees formerly grew and have left their remains, so that
copal, like amber, is to a large extent fossilized. The same is true
of the New Zealand dammar or kauri gum, which is the product of a
conifer called "Agathis australis," and is very hard and amber-like
in appearance. Chemically amber, copal, and dammar are similar to one
another but not identical. Amber, like the other two, has been used for
making "varnish," and the early Flemish painters in oils, as well as
the makers of Cremona violins, made use of amber varnish.

A medicament called "eau de luce" was formerly used, made by dissolving
one of the products of the dry distillation of amber (called "oil
of amber") in alcohol. Now, however, amber is used only for two
purposes--besides decoration--namely, for the mouthpieces of pipes and
cigar tubes and for burning (for amber, like other resins, burns with
a black smoke and agreeable odour) as a kind of incense (especially at
the tomb of Mahomet at Mecca). These uses are chiefly Oriental, and
most European amber now goes to the East. In China they use a fine
sort of amber, obtained from the north of Burma. The use of amber as
a mouthpiece is connected with its supposed virtues in protecting the
mouth against poison and infection. It is softer than the teeth, and
therefore pleasant to grip with their aid; but as a cigar or cigarette
tube it is disadvantageous, as it does not absorb the oil which is
formed by the cooling of the tobacco smoke passing along it, but allows
it to condense as an offensive juice.

Forty years ago an old lady used to sit in the doorway of her
timber-built cottage in the village of Trimley (where there are the
churches of two parishes in one churchyard), smoking a short clay pipe
and carving bits of amber found on the Suffolk beach into the shape of
hearts, crosses, and beads. She would carve and polish the amber you
had found yourself whilst you joined her in a friendly pipe. You were
sure in those days of the genuine character of the amber, jet, and
agate sold as "found on the beach." Nowadays these things, as well as
polished agates and "pebbles from the beach," are, I am sorry to say,
manufactured in Germany, and sent to many British seaside resorts,
like the false coral and celluloid tortoise-shell which, side by side
with the genuine articles, are offered by picturesque Levantines to
the visitors at hotels on the Riviera, and even in Naples itself.
Nevertheless, genuine and really fine specimens of amber picked up on
the beach and polished so as to show to full advantage their beautiful
colour and "clouding" can still be purchased in the jeweller's shop
at Aldeburgh on the Suffolk coast near the great pebble beach of
Orfordness.

There are difficulties about using the word "amber" with scientific
precision. The fossil resins which pass under this name in commerce,
and are obtained in various localities, including the Prussian mines on
the Baltic, are undoubtedly the product of several different kinds of
trees, and, from the strictly scientific chemical point of view, they
are mixtures in varying proportions of different chemical substances.
The merchant is content with a certain hardness (which he tests with a
penknife), transparency, and colour, and also attaches great importance
to the test of burning a few fragments in a spoon, when, if the
material is to pass as "amber," it should give an agreeable perfume.
Scientifically speaking, "amber" differs from other "resins," including
copal, in having a higher melting point, greater hardness, slighter
solubility in alcohol and in ether, and in containing "succinic acid"
as an important constituent, which the other resins, even those most
like it, do not. True amber thus defined is called "succinite," but
several other resins accompany it even as found in its classical
locality--the Baltic shore of Prussia--and, owing to their viscid
condition before fossilization, may have become mixed with it. One of
these is called "gedanite," and is used for ornamental purposes. It is
more brittle than amber, and contains no succinic acid. It is usually
clear and transparent, and of a pale wine-yellow colour.

It is not possible to be certain about the exact nature of what
appears to be a "piece of amber" thrown up on the seashore, without
chemical examination. A year or two ago a friend brought to me a dark
brownish-yellow-coloured piece of what looked like amber, which
(so my friend stated) had been picked up on the shore at Aldeburgh.
It was as big as three fingers of one's hand, very transparent and
fibrous-looking, owing to the presence of fine bubbles in its substance
arranged in lines. I found an exactly similar piece from the same
locality in the collection of the Natural History Museum. It was
labelled "copal," and, I suppose, had been chemically ascertained to be
that resin and not "amber," or, to use the correct name, "succinite."
How either of these pieces got into the North Sea it is difficult to
say. Though the "copal" of commerce is obtained from the West Coast of
Africa, it may occur (though I have not heard that it does) associated
with true amber in Prussia. A fossilized resin very similar to copal
is found in the London clay at Highgate and elsewhere near London, and
is called "copalite." It is possible, though not probable, that the
bits of amber found on our East Coast beaches are derived from Tertiary
beds, now broken up and submerged in the North Sea, and do not travel
to us all the way from the Baltic.

CHAPTER X

SEA-WORMS AND SEA-ANEMONES

LET us now leave the beach-pebbles and go down on to the rocks at low
tide in order to see some of the living curiosities of the seashore.
There are some seaside resorts where, when the tide goes down, nothing
is exposed but a vast acreage of smooth sand, and here the naturalist
must content himself with such spoils as may be procured by the aid
of a shrimping-net and a spade. Wading in the shallow water and using
his net, he will catch, not only the true "brown shrimp," but other
shrimp-like creatures, known as "crustacea"--a group which includes
also the lobsters, hermit-crabs, true crabs, and sand-hoppers, as well
as an immense variety of almost microscopic water-fleas.

He will also probably catch some of the stiff, queer little
"pipe-fish," which are closely related to the little creatures known as
"sea-horses." Pipe-fish are very sluggish in movement, almost immobile,
whilst the "sea-horse" or hippocampus--only to be taken by the dredge
amongst corallines in deep water on rocky bottoms (as, for instance,
in the Channel Islands)--goes so far as to curl his tail, like a South
American monkey, round a stem of weed and sit thus upright amidst the
vegetation. Even when disturbed he merely swims very slowly and with
much dignity in the same upright position, gently propelled by the
undulating vibratory movement of his small dorsal fin. The male in both
pipe-fish and sea-horses is provided with a sac-like structure on the
ventral surface in which he carries the eggs laid by the female until
they are hatched.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.--British Marine Worms or Chætopods.

a, Arenicola piscatorum. Lug-worm largely used for bait by
sea-fishermen. It burrows in sea-sand and clay as the earth-worm does
in soil. Half the natural size, linear.

b, Nephthys margaritacea, actively swimming. It also burrows in the
sea-sand. Natural size.

c, Eunice sanguinea, a very handsome marine worm (often used for bait)
which lives in clefts in the submarine rocks and also swims actively.
The numerous filaments on the sides of the ringed body are the gills
of a rich blood-colour. The figure is one-third of the natural size,
linear.]

The shrimper will probably catch also some very young fish
fry--including young flat-fish about 2 inches long. If he explores the
exposed surface of sand near the low-tide limit, he will find a variety
of indications of burrowing animals hidden beneath. Little coiled
masses like the "castings" of earth-worms are very abundant in places,
and are produced by the fisherman's sand-worm, or "lug-worm" (Fig.
4, a). A vigorous digging to the depth of a foot or two will reveal
the worm itself, which is worth bringing home in a jar of sea-water
in order to see the beautiful tufts of branched gills on the sides of
the body, which expand and contract with the flow of bright red blood
showing through their delicate walls. Other sand-worms, from 2 to 6
inches long, will at the same time be turned up,--worms which have some
hundred or more pairs of vibrating legs, or paddles, arranged down the
sides of the body, and swim with a most graceful, serpentine curving of
the mobile body (Fig. 4, b). These sea-worms are but little known to
most people, although they are amongst the most beautifully coloured
and graceful of marine animals. Hundreds of different kinds have been
distinguished and described and pictured in their natural colours.
Each leg is provided with a bundle of bristles of remarkable shapes,
resembling, when seen under a microscope, the serrated spears of South
Sea Islanders and mediaeval warriors. These worms usually have (like
the common earth-worm) red blood and delicate networks of blood-vessels
and gills (Fig. 4, c), whilst the head is often provided with eyes and
feelers. They possess a brain and a nerve-cord like our spinal cord,
and from the mouth many of them can suddenly protrude an unexpected
muscular proboscis armed with sharp, horny jaws, the bite of which is
not to be despised. These "bristle-worms," or "chætopods," as they are
termed by zoologists, are well worth bringing home and observing in a
shallow basin holding some clean sea-water.

At many spots on our coast (_e.g._ Sandown, in the Isle of Wight, and
the Channel Islands) rapid digging in the sand at the lowest tides will
result in the capture of sand-eels, a bigger and a smaller kind, from
1 foot to 6 inches in length. These are eel-shaped, silvery fish,
which swim near the shore, but burrow into the soft sand as the tide
recedes. They are excellent eating. We used at Sandown to make up a
party of young people to dig the smaller "sand-eels," or "sand-launce."
The agility and rapid disappearance of the burrowing fish into the sand
when one thought one had safely dug them out, rendered the pursuit
difficult and exciting. Then a wood fire on the beach, a frying-pan,
fat, flour, and salt were brought into operation, and the sand-eels
were cooked to perfection and eaten.

[Illustration: FIG. 5.--The shell of the Heart-urchin (Spatangus
purpureus) with its spines rubbed off. One-fourth the actual diameter.]

Some of the marks or small heaps of sand on the flats exposed at low
tide are characteristic of certain shell-fish. The "razor-fish" (Fig.
19, b)--a very much elongated clam, or mussel, with astonishing powers
of rapid burrowing--leaves a hole on the surface like a keyhole,
about an inch long. It can be dug up by an energetic spadesman, but
a spoonful of common salt poured over the opening of its burrow will
cause it to suddenly shoot out on to the surface, when it may be
picked up, and the hunter spared any violent exertion. The curious
heart-urchin (Fig. 5), as fragile as an egg-shell, and covered with
long, closely-set spines like a brush, is often to be found burrowing
in the sand, as well as the transparent, pink-coloured worm known as
Synapta, in the skin of which are set thousands of minute calcareous
anchors hinged to little sculptured plates. These burrowers swallow the
sand and extract nutriment from stray organic particles mixed in it.

The mere sand-flat of the low tide is not a bad hunting ground; but
the rock pools, often exposed when the tide is out, and the fissures
in the rocks and the under surfaces of slabs of rock revealed by
turning them over--are the greatest sources of varied delight to the
sea-shore naturalist. It is well to take a man with you on to these
rocks to carry your collecting bottles and cans, and to turn over for
you the larger slabs of loose stone, weighing as much as a couple of
hundredweight. The most striking and beautiful objects in these rock
pools are the sea-anemones (Fig. 6 and Frontispiece). They present
themselves as disk-like flowers from 1 to 5 inches in diameter, with
narrow-pointed petals of every variety of colour, set in a circle
around a coloured centre. The petals are really hollow tentacles
distended with sea-water, and when anything falls on to them or touches
them they contract and draw together towards the centre. The centre
has a transverse opening in it which is the mouth, and leads into a
large, soft-walled stomach, separated by its own wall from a second
spacious cavity lying between that wall and the body wall, and sending
a prolongation into each tentacle. The stomach opens freely at its
deep end into this second "surrounding" chamber, which is divided by
radiating cross walls into smaller partitions, one corresponding to
each tentacle. The nourishing results of digestion, and not the food
itself, pass from the stomach into the subdivided or "septate" second
chamber. There is thus only one cavity in the animal, separable into a
central and a surrounding portion.

In this respect--in having only one body cavity--sea-anemones and the
coral-polyps and the jelly-fishes and the tiny freshwater polyp or
hydra, and the marine compound branching polyps like it--agree with
one another and differ from the vast majority of animals, such as
worms, sea-urchins, star-fishes, whelks, mussels, crustaceans, insects,
spiders and vertebrates (which last include fish, reptiles, birds, and
mammals). These all have a second chamber, or body cavity, quite shut
off from the digestive cavity and from the direct access of water and
food particles. This second distinct chamber is filled with an animal
fluid, the lymph, and is called the "Cœlom" (a Greek word meaning a
cavity). These higher animals, which possess a cœlom as well as a
gut, or digestive cavity, are called "Cœlomata," or "Cœlomocœla,"
in consequence; whilst the sea-anemones, polyps, and jelly-fish form
a lower grade of animals devoid of cœlom, but having the one cavity,
or gut, continued into all parts of the body. Hence they are called
"Cœlentera," or "Enterocœla," words which mean that the cavity of
their bodies (Greek _cœl_) is made by an extension of the gut, or
digestive cavity (Greek _enteron_). The higher grade of animals--the
Cœlomocœla--very usually have a vascular system, or blood-vessels and
blood, as well as a cœlom and lymph, and quite independent of it; also
some kind of kidneys, or renal excretory tubes. Neither of these are
possessed by the sea-anemones and their allies--the Enterocœla--but
they have, like higher animals, a nervous system and also large ovaries
and spermaries on the walls of their single body cavity, which produce
their reproductive germs. These pass to the exterior, usually through
the mouth, but sometimes by rupture of the body wall.

All "one-cavity" animals, the Enterocœla or Cœlentera, produce
peculiar coiled-up threads in their skin in great quantity--many
thousands--often upon special warts or knobs. These coiled-up threads
lie each in a microscopic sac; they are very delicate and minute
and carry a virulent poison, so that they are "stinging" threads.
Excitement of the animal, or mere contact, causes the microscopic sac
to burst, and the thread to be violently ejected. The sea-anemones,
jelly-fish, and polyps feed on fresh living animals, small fish,
shrimps, etc., and catch their prey by the use of these poisonous
threads. Some jelly-fish have them big enough to act upon the human
skin, and bathers are often badly stung by them. The commonest
jelly-fish do not sting, but where they occur a few of the stinging
sort are likely to occur also. Even some sea-anemones can sting
one's hand with these stinging threads. One sea-anemone (known as
"Cerianthus"), occasionally taken in British waters, makes for itself
a leathery tube by the felting of its stinging threads, and lines its
long burrow in the sand below tidal exposure in this way.

The sea-anemones are very hardy, and they are wonderfully varied and
abundant on our coasts. Some sixty years ago a great naturalist, who
loved the seashore and its rock-pools enthusiastically, Mr. Philip
Henry Gosse, father of Mr. Edmund Gosse, the distinguished man of
letters, described our British sea-anemones, and gave beautiful
coloured pictures of them. One of these I have taken for the
frontispiece of this volume, and some of the outline figures of marine
animals in these chapters are borrowed from a marvelously complete and
valuable little book by him--now long out of print--entitled "Marine
Zoology." His books--of high scientific value--and his example, made
sea-anemones "fashionable." London ladies kept marine aquariums in
their drawing-rooms stocked with these beautiful flowers of the
sea. They were exhibited in quantity at the Zoological Gardens in
Regent's Park, and it is by no means a creditable thing to our London
zoologists that neither these nor other marine creatures are now to be
seen there. At a later date public marine aquaria were started with
success in many seaside towns,--Brighton, Scarborough, Southport,
etc.--and a very fine one was organized in Westminster and another at
the Crystal Palace. It is an interesting and important fact, bearing
on the psychology of the British people, that most of these charming
exhibitions of strange and beautiful creatures from the depths of the
sea were very soon neglected and mismanaged by their proprietors; the
tanks were emptied or filled with river water, and the halls in which
they were placed were re-arranged for the exhibitions of athletes,
acrobats, comic singers, and pretty dancers. These exhibitions are
often full of human interest and beauty--but I regret the complete
disappearance of the fishes and strange submarine animals. I have
some hope that before long we may, at any rate in the gardens in
the Regent's Park, see really fine marine and fresh-water aquaria
established, more beautiful and varied in their contents than those of
earlier days.

[Illustration: FIG. 6.--British Sea-Anemones.

a, Sagartia bellis, the daisy anemone, viewed from above when fully
expanded.

b, Bunodes crassicornis, half expanded; side view.

c, Anthea cereus. The tentacles are pale apple-green in colour, tipped
with mauve, and cannot be completely retracted.

d, Actinia mesembryanthemum. The disk of tentacles is completely
retracted. This is the commonest sea-anemone on our South Coast, and is
usually maroon colour, but often is spotted like a strawberry.]

There are four kinds of sea-anemones which are abundant on our coast.
They adhere by a disk-like base to the rocks and large stones, and
have the power of swelling themselves out with sea-water (as have many
soft-bodied creatures of this kind), with all their tentacles expanded.
They have, in that condition, the shape of small "Martello" towers,
with their adhesive disk below and the mouth-bearing platform above,
fringed by tapering fingers; and they can, on the other hand, shrink to
a fifth part of their expanded volume, drawing in and concealing their
tentacles, which are in some kinds perforated at the tip. One common on
the rocks at Shanklin and other parts of our South Coast, but not on
the East Coast, has very abundant, long, pale green tentacles, which
are tipped with a brilliant peach colour, and it is peculiar in not
being able to retract or conceal this beautiful crown of snake-like
locks, reminding one of the Gorgon Medusa. It is known as Anthea cereus
(Fig. 6, c). Many of them are known by the name "Actinia," and the
commonest of all (Fig. 6, d) is called "Actinia mesembryanthemum,"
because of its resemblance to a fleshy-leaved flower of that name
which grows on garden rockeries--sometimes called the "ice-plant."
This one is of a deep maroon colour, rarely more than an inch and a
half across the disk. The adhesive disk is often edged with bright
blue, and small spherical tentacles, of a bright blue colour, are set
at intervals outside the fringe of longer red ones. This anemone lives
wonderfully well in a small glass basin or in an aquarium holding a
gallon of sea-water, which is kept duly aerated by squirting it daily.
One lived in Edinburgh for more than fifty years, in the possession
first of Sir John Dalyell, and then of Mr. Peach. She was known as
"Granny," and produced many hundreds of young in the course of years.
This species is viviparous, the young issuing from the parent's mouth
as tiny fully-formed sea-anemones, which immediately fix themselves
by their disks to the glass wall of their habitation. Anemones kept
thus in small aquaria have to be carefully fed; bits of the sea mussel
(of course, uncooked) are the best food for them. This and many other
kinds are not absolutely stationary, but can very slowly crawl by
means of muscular movements of the adhesive disk. There are kinds of
sea-anemones known which spend their lives floating in the ocean; they
are thin and flat. Others adhere to the shells of hermit crabs and
even to the big claws of some crabs, and profit by the "crumbs" of
food let fall by the nippers of their host. A very handsome and large
sea-anemone is common on the East Coast, and is known as "crassicornis"
(its generic name is Bunodes). When distended it measures as much as
4 inches across (Fig. 6, b). I have one at this moment before me,
expanded in a bowl of sea-water. The tentacles are pale green or grey,
banded with deep red, and the body is blotched with irregular patches
of red, green, and orange. It attaches fine pebbles and bits of shell
to the surface of the body.

CHAPTER XI

CORAL-MAKERS AND JELLY-FISH

A VERY beautiful kind of sea-anemone (common at Felixstowe) is the
Daisy or Sagartia troglodytes, (Fig. 6, a), which has a very long body
attached to a rock or stone far below the sandy floor of the pool,
on the level of which it expands its thin, long, ray-like tentacles,
coloured dark brown and white, and sometimes orange-yellow. As soon as
you touch it it disappears into the sand, and is very difficult to dig
out. The most beautifully coloured of all sea-anemones are the little
Corynactids (half an inch across), which you may find dotted about
like jewels, each composed of emerald, ruby, topaz, and creamy pink
and lilac, on the under surface of slabs of rock at very low tide in
the Channel Islands. One of the most puzzling facts in natural history
is that these lovely little things live in the dark. No eye, even
of fish or crab, has ever seen what you see when you turn over that
stone. It is a simple demonstration of the truth of the poet Gray's
statement, that many a gem of purest ray serene is concealed in the
dark, unfathomed depths of ocean! A splendid anemone is the Weymouth
Dianthus (see the frontispiece of this volume), so named because it is
dredged up in Weymouth Bay. It is often six inches long, and has its
very numerous, small tentacles arranged in lobes, or tufts, around the
mouth. It is either of a uniform bright salmon-yellow colour or pure
white. When kept in an aquarium it fixes itself by its disk on the
glass wall, and often, as it slowly moves, allows pieces of the disk to
become torn off and remain sticking to the glass. These detached pieces
develop tentacles and a mouth, and grow to be small and ultimately
full-sized Weymouth anemones.

If the disk were spread out and gave rise to little anemones without
tearing--so that they remained in continuity with the parent--we
should get a composite or compound animal, made up of many anemones,
all connected at the base. This actually happens in a whole group
of polyps resembling the sea-anemones. They grow into "stocks,"
"tree-like" or "encrusting" masses, consisting of hundreds and even
thousands of individuals, each with its mouth and tentacles, but with
their inner cavities and bases united. These are the "coral polyps," or
"coral-insects" of old writers, of so many varied kinds. One further
feature of great importance in a "coral" is the production of a hard
deposit of calcite, or limestone, which is thrown down by the surface
of the adhesive disk, and is also formed in deep, radiating "pockets,"
pushed in to the soft animal from the disk. The hard deposit of calcite
is continuous throughout the "stock," or "tree," and when the soft
sea-anemone-like animals die, the hard, white matter is left, and is
called "coral." Very commonly this white coral shows star-like cups
on its surface, which correspond to the lower ends or disks of the
soft sea-anemone-like creatures which deposited the hard coral. In a
less common group (represented commonly on our coast by the so-called
"Dead men's fingers" found growing on the overhanging edges of low-tide
rocks) the hard coral material does not form cups for the minute
sea-anemones which secrete it, but takes the form of a supporting
central or axial rod (sea-pens), or branched tree (sea-bushes), upon
which the fleshy mass of polyps are tightly set. This is the case with
the precious red and pink coral of the Mediterranean (which is now
being "undersold" actually in the Mediterranean markets by a similar
red coral from Japan, usually offered as the genuine article, which it
is not!).

On the British coast you do not, as a rule, find coral-forming polyps.
A small kind, consisting of two or three yellow and orange-red
anemone-polyps united and producing a small group of hard calcite
cups (Caryophyllia and Balanophyllia) is not uncommon at Plymouth at
a few fathoms depth. But you have to go to the Norwegian fiords or
else far out to sea where you have 300 fathoms of sea-water in order
to get really luxuriant white corals--the beautiful Lophohelia (Fig.
3, p. 9), which I used to dredge in the Nord Fiord near Stavanger, as
branching, shrub-like masses of a foot cube in area, each white marble
cup standing out from the stem, an inch long and two-thirds of an
inch across, and the stems giving support to a whole host of clinging
growths (among them Rhabdopleura!) and sheltering wonderful deep-water
worms and starfish.

But these, beautiful as they are, are nothing, so far as mass and
dominating vigour of growth are concerned, in comparison with the
reef-building corals of the warm seas of the tropics. There these
lime-secreting conglomerated sea-anemones separate annually hundreds of
tons of solid calcite per square mile of sea bottom from the sea-water,
and build up reefs, islands, and huge cliffs of coral rock. They
get the calcite--as do calcareous seaweeds and shell-making clams,
oysters, whelks, and microscopic chalk-makers--from the sea--the water
of the sea which always has it ready in solution for their use. And the
sea gets it from the rivers and streams which wear away and dissolve
the old limestone deposits now raised into mountain chains, as well as
by itself dissolving again in due course what living creatures have so
carefully separated from it. Sea water or fresh water with a little
carbonic acid gas dissolved in it dissolves limestone and chalk--it
becomes what we call "hard." Neutralize the dissolved carbonic acid
(as is done in the well-known Clark's process for softening water),
and down falls the dissolved calcite as a fine white sediment. These
alternating processes of solution and "precipitation" are always going
on in the waters of the earth and sea.

The name "jelly-fish" has reference to the colourless, transparent,
soft, and jelly-like substance of the bodies of the animals to which it
is applied. There are a number of marine animals, besides the common
jelly-fish, belonging to different classes, which are glass-like in
transparency and colourless--so as to be nearly or quite invisible in
clear water, and some, too, occur in fresh waters (larvæ of gnats,
notably of the plume-horned gnat Corethra). The transparency of these
animals serves them in two different ways--some are enabled by it to
escape from predatory enemies; others, on the contrary, are enabled
to approach their own prey without being observed. The latter was
obviously the case with the little fresh-water jelly-fish which
appeared in great abundance some years ago in the lily tank in Regent's
Park. The water was full of small water-fleas (minute crustacea),
and the little jelly-fish, if removed from the tank and placed in a
tall glass jar filled with the tank water, spent its whole time in
swimming upwards to the surface by the alternate contraction and
expansion of its disk-like body, and then dropping gently through the
full length of the jar to the bottom, when it would again mount. On
the downward journey--owing to its transparency--it would encounter
unsuspecting, jerkily-moving water-fleas, unwarned by any shadow
cast by the impending glass-like monster of half an inch in breadth
slowly approaching from above; and as soon as they touched it they
were paralysed (by microscopic poison-threads like those of the
sea-anemones), and were grasped and swallowed by the mobile transparent
proboscis (like that of an elephant, though certainly smaller, and
having the mouth opening at its end, instead of a nostril), which hangs
from the centre of the disk-like jelly-fish.[2]

[2] See "Science from an Easy Chair" (First Series, 1910), p. 60, for a
further account and figure of the freshwater jelly-fish.

There are some glass-like transparent creatures, including some small
fishes, which live at 500 fathoms depth and a good deal deeper on the
sea bottom. We know that the sun's light does not penetrate below
200 fathoms, so that one is led to ask--What is the good of being
transparent if you live at the bottom of the sea, at a greater depth
than this? There is also a very beautiful prawn, which I dredged in
Norway in 200 fathoms, which looks like a solid piece of clearest,
colourless glass. And then there are some very beautiful little stalked
creatures (called Clavellina), fixed to the under-side of rocks in the
tidal zone, which are absolutely like drops of solid glass an inch
long. One cannot easily imagine how colourless transparency can be of
"life-saving value" to these varied inhabitants of the dark places of
the sea bottom--any more than we can assign any life-saving value to
the brilliant, gem-like colouring of some of the sea-anemones which
live in the dark on the under-surface of rocks.

The most probable view of the matter is that neither the colourless
transparency of the one set nor the brilliant colouring of the other
has any value; it just happens to be so, and is not harmful. So, for
instance, some crystals are colourless, some blue or green or yellow
or red, without any advantage to them! On the other hand, we know that
a large number of the animals which live in the dark unfathomed depths
themselves produce light, that is to say, are phosphorescent, and it
seems probable that at great depths, though there is no sunlight,
the sea bottom is illuminated--we can only vaguely guess to what
degree--by the strange living lanterns--fish, crustaceans, worms,
and even microscopic creatures--which move about in quest of their
food, carrying their own searchlight with them. Another suggestion is
that the eyes of these inhabitants of the dark may be more sensitive
than our own, and even be affected by rays invisible to us. This,
however, is not probable, since whilst there are among them some with
enormous eyes, we find that at the greatest depths (2 to 4 miles)
even the fishes have no eyes at all, and at a depth of a mile there
are many shrimp-like creatures in which the eyes have been completely
transformed into peculiar "feelers," or otherwise aborted. So that we
cannot suppose there is a possibility of developing the eye of the
dwellers in deep-sea darkness to a degree of sensitiveness greatly
beyond that of terrestrial animals. A limit of obscurity is reached
at which it is of no use having an eye at all, and eyes cease to have
life-saving value, and accordingly are not maintained by natural
selection.

The transparency and colourlessness of marine animals which float near
the surface is, on the other hand, obviously useful, and to this group
our jelly-fishes belong. Not only do they escape observation by their
transparency and general absence of colour, but some actually have a
blue transparent colouring which blends with the blue colour of the
sea. Such are the gas-holding, bladder-like sac as large as your fist
called the "Portuguese man-of-war," and the little sailing Velella,
both of which float, and even protrude above the surface, so as to
catch the wind. Others are only semi-transparent, and others are marked
with strong red, brown, or yellow streaks. Many of the smallest kinds
of jelly-fish have eyes which are bright red in colour.

[Illustration: FIG. 7.--A common British Jelly-fish.

Aurelia aurita, usually as large as a breakfast-plate and often larger.]

The animals to which the name "jelly-fishes" is now more or less
strictly applied are (as that fine zoologist Aristotle knew) in their
structure closely similar to the sea-anemones, but even simpler. They
are called the Medusæ by naturalists. Their disk-like bodies are
largely formed by a jelly-like material, on the surface of which are
stretched delicate transparent skin, nerves, and delicate muscles,
whilst in the middle of the disk, on the surface which faces downwards
as the creature floats, is the mouth, leading into a relatively small
pouched cavity excavated in the jelly, from which a delicate system of
canals is given off, and radiates in the jelly of the disk. There is,
as in the sea-anemones, only one continuous cavity. The edge of the
disk is beset with fine, sensitive tentacles, sometimes many feet in
length, and the lips of the mouth are often drawn out into a sort of
depending trunk, or into four large tapering lobes or lips of jelly,
which, with the longer tentacles, are used for seizing prey. The
commonest jelly-fish on our coast--so common as to be "the" jelly-fish
_par excellence_--is often to be seen left on the sands by the receding
tide or slowly swimming in quiet, clear water at the mouth of a river
in enormous numbers. It is known as "Aurelia" (Fig. 7). It is as big
as a cheese-plate, and the four pouches connected with the stomach
are coloured pink or purple, and appear in the middle of the circular
plate of jelly, like a small Maltese cross. The reproductive particles
(germ-cells and sperm-cells) are produced in that coloured region, and
escape by the mouth. There is a fringe of fine, very short tentacles
round the edge of the disk, and they, as well as the great lobes of
the mouth, are provided with innumerable coiled-up stinging hairs
or "thread-cells," similar to those of the sea-anemones, which led
Aristotle to call both groups "sea-nettles." Eight stalked eyes are set
at equal intervals around the disk.

Usually accompanying the floating crowd of the common and abundant
Aurelia are a few specimens of a very unpleasant kind of Medusa of a
turbid appearance, often called "slime balls" by fishermen, from six
inches to a foot in diameter. It is known to naturalists by the name
"Cyanæa capillata." The tentacles on the edge of the disk of this kind
of jelly-fish are very long and elastic, stretching to several feet,
even yards, in length, and are provided with very powerful stinging
hairs. The tentacles not infrequently become coiled around the body of
a bather; the stinging hairs are shot out of the little sacs in which
they are rolled up, and the result may be very painful to the person
stung in this way and even dangerous. There are two other common large
jelly-fish on the English coast, one called "Chrysaora" (Fig. 8), with
a wheel-like pattern of brown pigment on the disk, and the other with
the mouth lobes very large and bound together like a column.

[Illustration: FIG. 8.--A common British Jelly-fish.

Chrysaora hysoscella, usually twice as big as the figure.]

The common Aurelia is remarkable for the fact that the young which
hatch from its eggs attach themselves to stones and rocks on the sea
bottom, and grow into little white tube-like polyps, about half an
inch long, quite unlike their parent, with a crown of small tentacles
surrounding the mouth, whilst they are fixed by the opposite end of
the body. Then a very curious thing happens. The little polyp becomes
nipped at intervals across its length, so that it looks like a pile
of saucers--a dozen or more. And then the top saucer swims away as a
minute jelly-fish, the next follows, and so on, so that, in the course
of an hour or two, the whole pile separates into a number of freely
swimming young, each of which gradually grows into a full-sized
Aurelia. I have only once had the chance of witnessing this beautiful
sight, and that was many years ago in a tank at the Zoological Gardens
(they have no such tanks now), where the polyp-like young (called
"Hydra tuba") spontaneously put in an appearance, and proceeded to
break up into piles of little disks, which separated and swam off as
one watched them. The French poet, Catulle Mendés, imagined a world
where the flowers flew about freely and the butterflies were fixed to
stalks. His fancy is to some degree realized by the swimming away of
the young jelly-fish from their stalks. There are a host of very minute
jelly-fish, measuring when full grown only half an inch or less in
diameter. They originate as buds from small branching polyps, one kind
of which is common on oyster-shells, and is called "the herring-bone
coralline." The dried skins of these coralline polyps (which are horny)
are often to be picked up with masses of seaweed on the seashore after
a storm. The little jelly-fish are the ripe individuals of the polyps,
and produce eggs and sperm which grow to be polyp-trees. These, again,
after growing and branching as polyps, give rise to little jelly-fish
here and there on the tree, which in most kinds (though not in all)
break off and swim away freely.

CHAPTER XII

SHRIMPS, CRABS, AND BARNACLES

WE have no word in English to indicate the varied crab-and-shrimp-like
creatures of salt and fresh waters in the same way as "insect"
designates the six-legged, usually winged, terrestrial creatures
of many kinds--beetles, bees, bugs, two-winged flies, dragonflies,
day-flies, and butterflies. They are all "insects." Naturalists call
the aquatic shrimp-and-crab creatures "crustaceans." Perhaps "crab"
might be used in a large sense to include them all, together with the
true crabs, as the Germans use their word, "krebs." The shore-crab is
the most familiar of all crustaceans, in the living, moving condition.
Boiled lobsters, prawns, and shrimps are more generally familiar
members of the class, but the "undressed" living crab is better known
to every one who has been on the seashore than the live lobster,
prawn, and shrimp. Londoners have been heard to express interest in
the curious blue variety of lobster caught on the coast, not being
aware that the hot bath which he takes before he, too, is "dressed,"
causes his blue armour to change its colour to a brilliant scarlet.
Occasionally a regular ordinary lobster is caught in which this change
has occurred during life in the sea--and there are some enormous
deep-sea prawns of a pound in weight which when living have a splendid
crimson colour. A large series of "crustaceans," carefully prepared so
as to show their natural colours in life, is exhibited in the Natural
History Museum in Cromwell Road.

A curious kind of prawn (by name Althea rubra), of fair size, is found
under "the low-tide rocks" in the Channel Islands, which not only is
of a deep crimson colour, but snaps his fingers at you--or rather
one of his fingers--or claws--when you try to catch him, making a
loud crack audible at ten yards distance. The common big prawn, if
you see him in a large vessel of sea-water with the light shining
through him, appears very brilliantly marked with coloured bands and
spots--reddish-brown, blue, and yellow--which are displayed on a
transparent, almost colourless surface. Of course, boiling turns him
pale red. A common smaller species of prawn when boiled is often sold
as "pink shrimps," and lately a deep-sea prawn--a third species--has
come from the Norwegian coast into the London market. There are many
kinds which are not abundant enough to become "marketable." Prawns
are at once distinguished from the true "brown shrimp" by having the
front end of the body drawn out into a sharp-toothed spine, which
is absent in the shrimp. Besides the prawns (Palæmon and Pandalus),
the shrimp (Crangon), and the common lobster (Homarus), you may see
in the London fish shops the large spiny lobster (Palinurus) called
"langouste" by the French, and apparently preferred by them as a table
delicacy to the common lobster, although it has no claws. It used to
be called "craw-fish" or "sea craw-fish" in London; why, I am unable
to say. The name was certainly bad, as it leads to confusion with the
cray-fish, the fresh-water lobster of British and all European rivers
(there are many other kinds of fresh-water lobsters in other parts of
the world, as well as fresh-water prawns and crabs), whose English
name is a curious corruption of the French one, "écrevisse" (cray-vees,
cray-fish). Another lobster of our markets is the little one known as
the "Dublin prawn," which is common enough on the Scotch and Norwegian
coasts, as well as that of Ireland. Naturalists distinguish it as
Nephrops Norvegicus. The great edible crab completes the list of
British marketable crustaceans, but in Paris I have eaten, as well as
at Barcelona, a very large Mediterranean prawn, three times as big as
our biggest Isle of Wight prawns, but by no means so good. It is called
"Barcelona prawn" and "Langostino" ("Penæus" by naturalists). In Madrid
I have seen in the fish shops and eaten yet another crustacean--a very
curious one--namely, a long-stalked rock-barnacle of the kind known to
naturalists as Pollicipes.

That the barnacles--ship's barnacles (Fig. 10) and with them the
little sea-acorns (Fig. 11), those terribly hard and sharp little
white "pimples" which cover the rocks nearly everywhere just below
high-tide mark, and have so cruelly lacerated the hands and shins
of all of us who swim and have had to return to a rocky shore in a
lively sea--should be included with crabs, lobsters, and shrimps as
"crustaceans" must appear astonishing to every one who hears it for the
first time. The extraordinarily ignorant, yet in their own estimation
learned, fishermen of the Scottish coast will tell you with solemn
assurance that the ubiquitous encrusting sea-acorns are the young
of the limpet, whilst the creature living inside the shell of the
long-stalked ship's barnacles has for ages been discoursed of by the
learned as one of the marvels of the sea--nothing more or less than a
young bird--the young, in fact, of a goose--the barnacle goose which,
since it was thus proved to be a fish in origin, was allowed to be
eaten by good Catholics on fast days! Two hundred years or more ago
this story was discredited by serious naturalists, but the barnacles
and sea-acorns were thought (even by the great Cuvier) to be of the
nature of oysters, mussels, and clams (Molluscs), because of their
possessing white hard shells in the form of "valves" and plates, which
can open and shut like those of mussels. Their true history and nature
were shown about eighty years ago by a great discoverer of new things
concerning marine creatures, Dr. Vaughan Thompson, who was Army Medical
Inspector at Cork, and studied these and other animals found in the
waters of Queenstown Harbour.

The crab class, or Crustacea, have, like the insects, centipedes,
spiders, and scorpions, a body built up of successive rings
or segments. The earth-worms (as every one knows) and marine
bristle-bearing worms also show this feature in the simplest and
most obvious way. The vertebrates, with their series of vertebræ or
backbone-pieces and the body muscles attached ring-wise to them, show
the same condition. The marine worms have a soft skin and a pair of
soft paddle-like legs upon each ring of the body, often to the number
of a hundred such pairs. But the crab class and the classes called
insects, centipedes, arachnids, and millipedes are remarkable for the
hard, firm skin, or "cuticle," which is formed on the surface of their
bodies and of their legs, which, as in the marine worms, are present--a
pair to each body-ring or segment--often along the whole length of
the body as in centipedes. This hard cuticle is impregnated with lime
in the bigger members of the crab class, such as the lobster. It is
not equally thick and hard all over the surface of the lobster, but
is separated by narrow bands of thin, soft cuticle into a number of
harder pieces, thus rendered capable of being bent or "flexed" on one
another. Thus the body is jointed into a series of rings, and the legs
are also divided each into several joints (as many as seven), which
gives them flexibility and so usefulness of various kinds. The various
joints are "worked" by powerful muscles, which are fixed internally to
the cuticle and pass from one hard ring or segment, whether of body or
of leg, to a neighbouring ring.

Every one knows the structure of a lobster's tail and of its legs,
which can be readily examined in illustration of my statement, and
the same structure can be seen in the leg of a beetle or a fly.
Naturalists term all this series of creatures with hard-jointed
cuticle, to which the muscles are attached, including the crab class,
the insects, centipedes, spiders, and scorpions, "jointed-leg owners,"
or Arthropods. It is easy to appreciate this characteristic difference
which separates the Arthropods from other animals. The sea-worms differ
from them, in that they have soft cuticle, but stiffen and render their
paddle-like legs firm by squeezing the liquid of the body into them in
the same sort of way as the sea-anemones distend their tentacles with
liquid, though in that case the liquid is sea-water taken in by the
mouth. The Molluscs also distend their muscular lobe, or "foot" as it
is called, by pressing the blood from the rest of the body into it, and
so making it swell and become stiff, so that the muscles can work it;
when not distended in that way it is flaccid. The Vertebrates (bony
animals) and the star-fishes have again another and peculiar mechanism.
Their muscles are attached to hard internal pieces, sometimes
cartilaginous but often calcareous or bony, which are spoken of as "the
internal skeleton." There are thus three distinct kinds of mechanism in
animals for giving the necessary resisting surfaces, hinged or jointed
to one another, and made to "play" one on the other by the alternate
contraction and relaxation of the muscles attached to them.

The Arthropods differ among themselves in the number of body-rings,
the enlargement or dwindling of certain rings, and the fusion of a
larger or smaller number of the rings to form a composite head, or a
jointless mid-body or hind-body. The successive legs are primarily and
essentially like to one another, and each body-ring, with its pair of
legs, is but a repetition of its fellows. At the same time, in the
different classes included as "Arthropoda" a good deal of difference
has been attained in the structure of the legs, and they have in each
class a different form and character in successive regions of the
body, distinctive of the class, and are sometimes, but not always,
absent from many of the hinder rings. All these Arthropods agree in
having a leg on each side immediately behind the mouth--belonging to a
body-ring, which is fused with others to form the head--very specially
shortened, of great strength and firmness, and shaped so as to be
pulled by a powerful muscle attached to it, against its fellow of the
opposite side, which is similarly pulled. These two stumpy legs form
thus a powerful pair of nippers called "the mandibles." They are jaws,
although they were in the ancestors of the Arthropods merely legs.
These jaw-legs, or leg-jaws, are characteristic of all the crab class,
as well as of the other Arthropods, but no bristle-worm or other animal
has them. The jaws of marine worms are of a totally different nature.
So are the jaws of snails, whelks, and cuttle-fish. Many of the crab
class have not one only, but several, pairs of legs following the
mouth converted into jaws. Thus, if you examine a big shore-crab, or,
better, an edible crab, and a lobster, and a large prawn, you will find
that they all have five pairs of legs converted into short foliaceous
jaws (hence called "foot-jaws"), and overlying the first very strong
pair, or mandibles.

Following these "foot-jaws" you find in a crab or a lobster the great
nipping claws and the four large walking legs--the same in proportion
and shape in crab, lobster, and prawn, much bigger than the foot-jaws.
But the curious thing is that if you set them out and carefully compare
them (for they are not simple jointed limbs, but each has two or even
three diverging stems carried on a basal joint), you will find a
strange and fascinating "likeness in unlikeness," or an agreement of
the parts of which they are built, and yet a difference between all of
them.

The rings of the body to which the jaw-legs and legs are attached are
fused into one unjointed piece. The spine in front of the mouth and
the support of the eyes and the feelers or "antennæ" are fused with
that piece. It forms on the back a great shield--often called "the
head"--which overhangs and is bent down over the sides of this region,
so as to protect the gills, which you can see by cutting away the
overhanging flap.

Following on the jaw-legs or foot-jaws and walking-legs, in the three
crustaceans we are looking at, comes the jointed tail or hind-body,
consisting of seven pieces. The first five rings of the tail have small
=Y=-shaped legs, a pair to each ring. They are called "swimmerets,"
whilst the sixth has legs of the same shape, but very large and flat.
In the middle between these large flat legs is the last ring, which
has no legs, but is perforated by the opening of the intestine. You
will see if you compare the crab and the lobster (or the prawn, which
is very much like the lobster), that the crab has the so-called head
(really head and mid-body combined) drawn out from side to side, so as
to make it much wider than it is long. And, moreover, the jointed tail
or hind-body seems at first sight to be absent in the crab. But if you
turn the crab (a dead one) on his back, you will find that he has a
complete tail, on the whole like that of the lobster, but pointed and
bent forwards, and closely packed under the fused head and mid-body in
a groove, from which you can raise it and turn it back.

[Illustration: FIG. 9.--The larval or young form of Crustacea known as
"the Nauplius." This is the "Nauplius" of a kind of Prawn. The three
pairs of branched limbs are well seen. Much magnified.]

We have not yet done with the various forms assumed by the legs of our
three crustaceans--for, actually in front of the mouth, there are two
pairs of peculiarly altered legs. Originally in crab-ancestors, and at
the present day in the very minute young stage of growth called "the
Nauplius" (Fig. 9), the mouth was not behind these two front pairs.
It has sunk back as it were, gradually moved so as to leave the legs
in front of it. As we now see them in the crab, lobster, and prawn,
the two pairs of legs in front of the mouth are jointed filamentous
things--the feelers or antennæ--very long in prawns and lobsters, short
in crabs. In the ancestors of crabs, lobsters, and prawns these feelers
were undoubtedly swimming legs. In the "nauplius" stage (Fig. 9) of
some prawns, and in many minute crustaceans often called "water-fleas,"
we find these feelers not acting as mere sensory organs of touch, but
relatively strong and large, with powerful muscles, striking the water
and making the little creatures bound or jump through it in jerks.

It has been discovered that in the growth from the egg of many
crustaceans the young hatches out as a "nauplius" with only three
pairs of legs. The front two pairs later gradually grow to be the
feelers, the third pair become eventually the mandibles or first pair
of jaw-legs. These legs all present themselves at first as active,
powerful swimming "oars," beset with peculiar feathery hairs and
not in the shape which they later acquire. The kite-shaped nauplius
baby-phase, smaller than a small flea, with its three pairs of
violently jerking legs, is a very important little beast. It is the
existence of this young stage in the growth of barnacles and sea-acorns
which has demonstrated that they are crustaceans, that is to say,
belong to the crab class. The fixed shell-like barnacles and sea-acorns
hatch from their eggs each as a perfect little "nauplius," like that
drawn in Fig. 9. They swim about with jerking movements caused by
the strokes of the two front legs and of the pair which will become
the mandibles. Their limbs have the special form and are beset with
the feather-like hairs, and the whole creature has the kite-like
shape--characteristic of the nauplius young of other Crustacea. They
are indeed indistinguishable from those young. Whilst it was the Army
doctor, Vaughan Thompson, who discovered that barnacles are strangely
altered "shrimps," it was Darwin who made one of the most interesting
discoveries about them--a discovery of which he was always, and
rightly, very proud--as I will explain in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XIII

BARNACLES AND OTHER CRUSTACEANS

THE ship's barnacle looks at first, when you see one of a group of them
hanging from a piece of floating timber, like a little smooth, white
bivalve shell, as big as your thumb-nail, at the end of a thickish,
worm-like stalk, from one to ten inches long (Fig. 10). But you will
soon see that there are not only two valves to the white shell, but
three smaller ones as well as the two principal ones. This does not
separate them altogether from the bivalve-shelled molluscs (mussels,
clams, oysters), for the bivalve molluscs, which bore in stone and
clay, have small extra shelly plates, besides the two chief ones,
whilst the Teredo, or ship's worm--a true bivalve mollusc--has an
enormously long, worm-like body which favours a comparison with it of
the long-stalked barnacle. If a group of barnacles is floating attached
to a piece of timber undisturbed in a tank of sea-water you will see
the little shells gape, and from between them a bunch of curved,
many-jointed feelers will issue and make a succession of grasping or
clawing movements, as though trying to draw something into the shell,
which, in fact, is what they are doing--namely, industriously raking
the water on the chance of bringing some particle of food to the mouth
which lies within the shell (Fig. 10).

[Illustration: FIG. 10.--The Common Ship's Barnacle, Lepas anatifera,
natural size. The name "Anatifera," the "goose-bearer," was given to
this species by Linnæus in reference to the legend of its giving birth
to young geese.

_st._, stalk.

_cir._, cirri, or double hairy legs.

_pe._, opening of the seminal duct.

_sc._, scutum; _t_, tergum, the two plates or shells of the left side;
_c_, the middle piece or shell called the "carina."]

It is not every one who has the chance of seeing living ship's
barnacles (Lepas), but anyone can pick up a stone or bit of rock on the
seashore with live sea-acorns or acorn-barnacles (Balanus) adherent to
it. Each is like a little truncated volcano (Fig. 11), the sides of
which correspond to the pair of larger shells of the ship's barnacle,
fused together and grown into a cone-like wall. The acorn-barnacle
has no stalk, but adheres by its broad base to the stone. Just within
the shelly crater are four small hinged plates or valves in pairs,
identical with the smaller shelly bits of the ship's barnacle. When
you first see your specimen, the valves are tightly closed. After a
few minutes in a glass of sea-water they open right and left, and up
jumps--jack-in-the-box-wise--a tuft of bowing and scraping feelers or
tentacles, like those of the ship's barnacle. If disturbed, they shoot
inwards, and the valves close on them like a spring trapdoor.

[Illustration: FIG. 11.--A large British Sea-acorn, Balanus porcatus,
allied to the Ship's Barnacle. _l_, the feather-like legs issuing from
the shell. Drawn of the natural size.]

Now, these clawing, feathery little plumes are found, when we examine
them with a hand-glass, to be six pairs in number, and each of them
is =Y=-shaped, like the swimmerets of a lobster. The arms of the =Y=
are built up of many little joints and covered with coarse hairs. As a
result of the study of the young condition of the ship's barnacle and
the sea-acorn, we find that these six pairs of =Y=-shaped plumes are
six pairs of legs corresponding to those of the mid-body (some of the
walking legs and some of the foot-jaws) of the lobster, and that the
shelly hinged plates of the barnacles correspond to the overhanging
sides of the "head" of the lobster and prawn, which one can imagine
to be hinged along a line running down the back so as to open like
the covers of a book. There are very common little, free-swimming
"water-fleas" (minute crustaceans) of many hundreds of kinds which have
hinged shells of this description when in the full-grown condition,
and it is found that the young barnacles and sea-acorns pass through a
free-swimming phase of growth (the Cyprid stage), in which they greatly
resemble these "water-fleas."

In fact, it is quite easy to hatch the young from the eggs of either
ship's barnacles or acorn-barnacles at the right season of the
year. They commence life as do so many Crustacea--in the "nauplius
state," with three pairs of jerking limbs (Fig. 9). As they grow the
overhanging pair of shells, delicate and transparent, appear; the three
pairs of nauplius legs lose their swimming power; the most anterior
(always called antennules in all crustaceans) become elongated and
provided each with an adhesive sucker, on the face of which a large
cement gland opens, secreting abundant adhesive cement; the second pair
(antennæ) shrivel and disappear altogether; the third pair lose their
long blades for striking the water and remain as simple, but strong,
stumps--the mandibles! Two new pairs of little jaw-feet appear behind
these, and farther back on the now enlarged body (the whole creature
is not bigger than a small canary seed!) six pairs of =Y=-shaped legs
appear and strike the water rhythmically, so that the little creature
swims with some sobriety. The region to which these legs are attached
is marked with rings or segments, and behind it follows a small,
limbless, hind body of four segments, or joints, ending with two little
hairy prongs like a pitchfork. The right and left movable, shell-like
fold, or downgrowth, of the sides of the body encloses the whole
creature except the protruding antennules with their suckers.

[Illustration: FIG. 12.--Two stages in the growth of the Common
Barnacle from the Nauplius stage. Diagrammatic.

_cir._, the double legs or cirri; _m_, mouth; _o_, the single eye; _d_,
the digestive canal.

_a′_, one of the antennules or "feelers" (that of the right side of
the head) provided with a sucking disk by means of which the young
animal becomes fixed.]

In this condition it swims about for a time, and then, once for all,
fixes itself by means of the suckers and their abundant cement, on
to rock, stone, or floating wood--and there remains for the rest of
its life (Fig. 12). It increases enormously in size, the delicate
transparent shell develops into hard calcareous plates, opening and
shutting on the hinge-line of the back. In the stalked kinds a peculiar
elongated growth of an inch or several inches in length takes place
between the mouth and the fixed suckers of the antennules (Figs. 10
and 12); in the short, so-called, "acorn" kinds, this stalk does
not form, but a separate part of the shell grows into a ring-like
protective wall or cone. The creature is thus actually fastened by
its head--"upside down, with its legs sticking up" not in the air, but
in the water. Those six pairs of =Y=-shaped legs, though no longer
enabling the barnacle to swim, increase in relative size, and keep up
their active movements. It is they which emerge like a plume when the
valves of the shell open and carry on the rhythmic bowing and scraping
movement described above.

The barnacles have, in fact, undergone a transformation which may
be compared to that experienced by a man who should begin life as
an active boy running about as others do, but be compelled suddenly
by some strange spell or Arabian djin to become glued by the top of
his head to the pavement, and to spend his time in kicking his food
into his mouth with his legs. Such is the fate of the barnacles, and
it is as strange and exceptional amongst crustaceans as it would be
amongst men. Indeed, to "earn a living" human acrobats will submit
to something very much like it. It is this change from the life of a
free-living shrimp to that of a living lump, adherent by its head to
rocks or floating logs, that Vaughan Thompson in 1830 discovered to
be the story of every barnacle, and so showed that they were really
good crustaceans gone wrong, and not molluscs. It is a curious fact
that the young ascidian or sea-squirt which swims freely and has the
shape of a tadpole, also when very young fixes itself by the top of its
head to a rock or piece of seaweed, and remains immovable for the rest
of its life. Though agreeing in their strange fixation by the head,
the barnacle and the ascidian are very different kinds of animals.
(For some account of the Ascidian the reader may consult the chapter
"Tadpoles of the Sea" in "Science from an Easy Chair," Second Series.
Methuen, 1912.)

The name "Cirripedes" is commonly used for the order or group formed
by the barnacles--in allusion to the plume-like appearance of their
"raking" legs. Stalked barnacles often are found in the ocean attached
to floating pumice-stone, and one species has been discovered attached
to the web of the foot of a sea-bird. They, like many other creatures,
benefit by being carried far and wide by floating objects. Whales have
very large and solid acorn-barnacles peculiar to them, fixed deeply in
their skin. Others attach themselves to marine turtles.

With few exceptions the crustaceans are of separate sexes, male and
female. But in nearly all classes of animals we find some kinds,
even whole orders, in which the ovaries and spermaries are present
in one and the same individual. "Monœcious" or "one-housed"--that
is to say, possessing one house or individual for both ovaries and
spermaries--is the proper word for this condition, but a usual term for
it is "hermaphrodite." "Diœcious" is the term applied to animals or
plants in which there are two kinds of individuals--one to carry the
spermaries, the male, and the other to carry the ovaries, the female.
It is probable that the monœcious condition has preceded the diœcious
in all but unicellular animals. In vertebrate animals as high as the
frogs and the toads we find rudimentary ovaries in the male, and in
individual cases both ovaries and spermaries are well developed. Such
a condition is not rare as an individual abnormality in fishes. In
some common species of sea-perch (Serranus) and others it is not an
exception but the rule.

Many groups of molluscs are monœcious, and it is not in any way
astonishing to find a group of crustaceans which are so. The
Cirripedes or barnacles are an example. It is probable that the
presence of ovaries and spermaries in the same individual--the
monœcious condition--is an advantage to immovable fixed animals.
During the voyage of the "Beagle," and making use on his return of the
collections then obtained, Darwin carried out a very thorough study
of the Cirripedes of all kinds from all parts of the world. He worked
out their anatomy minutely, classified the 300 different kinds then
known, and described many new kinds. The stalked barnacles often occur
in groups, the individuals being of different ages and sizes, the
small young ones sometimes fixing themselves by their sucker-bearing
heads to the stalks of their well-grown relatives. In all the varied
kinds studied by Darwin he found that the full-grown individuals
were monœcious--that is, of combined sex--as was known to be the
case in those studied before his day. But Darwin made the remarkable
discovery that in two kinds of stalked barnacles (not the common ship's
barnacles), comprising several species, "dwarf males" were present
perched upon the edge of the shell of the large monœcious (bi-sexual)
individuals. These dwarf males were from one-tenth to one-twentieth
the length of the large normal monœcious individuals, but usually
possessed the characteristic details of the shell-valves and other
features of the latter.

This existence of a sort of supernumerary diminutive kind of male as
an accompaniment to a race of normal monœcious individuals was quite
a new thing when Darwin discovered it. That all the males in some
diœcious animals are minute as compared with the females was known,
and has been established in the case of some parasitic crustaceans,
in some of the wheel-animalcules, and in the most exaggerated degree
in the curious worms, Bonellia and Hamingia. But the existence of
"complemental males," as Darwin called them, existing apparently in
order to fertilize the eggs should they escape fertilization by the
ordinary monœcious individuals, was a new thing. And it was doubted
and disputed when Darwin described his observations fifty-six years
ago. They were, in fact, by many regarded as a distinct species
parasitic upon the larger barnacles on which they were found until
Darwin's conclusion as to their nature was confirmed by the report of
Dr. Hoek, on the barnacles brought home by the "Challenger" expedition.

It is an interesting fact that recent studies have shown that in
some of the barnacles with dwarf males (species of Scalpellum) the
large individuals are no longer monœcious, but have become purely
females, whilst in some other species dwarf males have been discovered
which have rudimentary ovaries. Thus we get gradations leading from
one extreme case to the other. Darwin always felt confidence in his
original observations on this matter, and was proportionately delighted
when, after thirty years, his early work was proved to be sound.
In the Natural History Museum at the Darwin centenary in 1909, a
temporary exhibition of specimens, note-books, and letters associated
with Darwin's work, was brought together. His original specimens and
drawings of Cirripedes and of the wonderful little "complemental males"
of the barnacles were placed on view.

CHAPTER XIV

THE HISTORY OF THE BARNACLE AND THE GOOSE

THE curious belief, widely spread in former ages--that the creatures
(described in the last chapter) called "barnacles" or "ship's
barnacles"--often found attached in groups to pieces of floating
timber in the sea as well as fixed to the bottoms of wooden ships--are
the young of a particular kind of goose called "the barnacle goose,"
which is supposed to hatch out of the white shell of the long-stalked
barnacle, is a very remarkable example of the persistence of a
tradition which is entirely fanciful. It was current in Western Europe
for six or seven centuries, and was discussed, refuted, and again
attested by eminent authorities even as late as the foundation of the
Royal Society--the first president of which, Sir Robert Moray, read a
paper at one of the earliest meetings of the society in 1661, in which
he described the bird-like creature which he had observed within the
shell of the common ship's barnacle, and favoured the belief that a
bird was really in this way produced by a metamorphosis of the barnacle.

The story was ridiculed and rejected by no less a philosopher than
Roger Bacon in the thirteenth century, and was also discredited by
the learned Aristotelian Albertus Magnus at about the same time. No
trace of it is to be found in Aristotle or Herodotus or any classical
author, nor in the "Physiologus." The legend seems to have originated
in the East, for the earliest written statement which we have
concerning it is by a certain Father Damien, in the eleventh century,
who simply declares: "Birds can be produced by trees, as happens in
the island of Thilon in India." We have also a reference to the same
marvel in an ancient Oriental book (the "Zohar," the principal book
of the Kaballah), as follows: "The Rabbi Abba saw a tree from the
fruits of which birds were hatched." The earliest written statements of
the legend are, it appears, to the effect that there is a tree which
produces fruits from which birds are hatched. The belief in the story
seems to have died out at the end of the seventeenth century, when the
structure of the barnacle lying within its shell was examined without
prejudice, and it was seen to have only the most remote resemblance to
a bird. The plumose legs or "cirrhi" of the barnacle (Fig. 10) have a
superficial resemblance to a young feather or possibly to the jointed
toes of a young bird, and there the possibilities of comparison end.

The notion that a particular kind of black goose (a "brent"), which
occurs on the marshy coast of Britain in great numbers, is _the_
goose, _the_ bird, produced by the barnacle was favoured by the fact
that this goose does not breed in Britain, and yet suddenly appears
in large flocks, in districts where barnacles attached to rotting
timber are often drifted on to the shore. It was accordingly assumed by
learned monks--_who already knew the traveller's tale_, that in distant
lands birds are produced by the transformation of barnacles--that
this goose is the actual bird which is bred from the barnacles, and
it was accordingly called "the barnacle goose." I think that this
identification was due to the exercise of a little authority on the
part of the clergy in both France and Britain, who were thus enabled to
claim the abundant "barnacle goose" as a fish in its nature and origin
rather than a fowl, and so to use it as food on the fast-days of the
Church. Pope Innocent III (to whom the matter was referred) considered
it necessary in 1215 to prohibit the eating of "barnacle geese" in
Lent, since although he admitted that they are not generated in the
ordinary way, he yet maintained (very reasonably) that they live and
feed like ducks, and cannot be regarded as differing in nature from
other birds.

Thus we see that in early and even later days a good deal hung on the
truth of this story of the generation of barnacle geese. The story
was popularly discussed by the devout and by sceptics, and appears to
have been known in France as "l'histoire du canard." At last in the
seventeenth century it was finally discredited, owing to the account
given by some Dutch explorers of the eggs and young of the barnacle
goose--like those of any other goose--and its breeding-place in the far
north on the coast of Greenland. The discredited and hoary legend now
became the type and exemplar of a marvellous story which is destitute
of foundation, and so the term "un canard" (short for histoire d'un
canard), commonly applied in French to such stories, receives its
explanation. Our own term for such stories, in use as long since as
1640, namely, "a cock-and-bull story," has not been traced to its
historical source.[3]

[3] Probably it means "a silly story told by a cock to a bull!" as
suggested by the French word _coq-à-l'âne_, which means a story told or
fit to be told by a cock to an ass!

That the story of the goose or duck and the transformed barnacle was
a popular one in Shakespear's time, whether believed or disbelieved,
appears from his reference to barnacles in "The Tempest." Caliban says
to Stephano and Trinculo, when they have all three been plagued by
Prospero's magic, and plunged by Ariel into "the filthy mantled pool"
near at hand, "dancing up to their chins": "We shall lose our time and
all be turned to barnacles, or to apes with foreheads villainous low."
Probably enough, this is an allusion to the supposed Protean nature of
barnacles. They are not alluded to elsewhere in Shakespear.

One of the most precise accounts of the generation of geese by
barnacles is that of the mediaeval historian Giraldus Cambrensis,
who visited Ireland and wrote an account of what he saw in the time
of Henry II, at the end of the twelfth century. He says: "There are
in this place many birds which are called Bernacæ; Nature produces
them, against Nature, in a most extraordinary way. They are like
marsh-geese, but somewhat smaller. They are produced from fir timber
tossed along the sea, and are at first like gum. Afterwards they hang
down by their beaks as if they were a seaweed attached to the timber,
and are surrounded by shells in order to grow more freely. Having thus
in process of time been clothed with a strong coat of feathers, they
either fall into the water or fly freely away into the air." "I have
frequently seen," he proceeds, "with my own eyes, more than a thousand
of these small bodies of birds, hanging down on the seashore from a
piece of timber, enclosed in their shells and ready formed. They do not
breed and lay eggs like other birds; nor do they ever hatch any eggs
nor build nests anywhere. Hence bishops and clergymen in some parts of
Ireland do not scruple to dine off these birds at the time of fasting,
because they are not flesh nor born of flesh!"

It is noteworthy that Giraldus does not state--in accordance with the
tradition as reported by earlier writers--that there is a tree the
buds of which become transformed into the geese, but says merely that
the "small bodies of birds," clearly indicating by his description
groups of ship's barnacles, are "produced from fir timber tossed along
the sea." It is also noteworthy that he calls the geese themselves
"Bernacæ," which is the Celtic name for a shell-fish.

Later the belief seems to have reverted to the older tradition,
or probably enough the complete story, including the existence of
the bird-producing tree, existed in its original form in "seats of
learning" in other parts of the British Islands outside Ireland, and
also in Paris and other places in Western Europe. For we find that in
1435 the learned Sylvius, who afterwards became Pope Pius II, visited
King James of Scotland in order, among other things, to see the
wonderful tree which he had heard of as growing in Scotland from the
fruit of which geese are born. He complains that "miracles will always
flee further and further," for when he had now arrived in Scotland and
asked to see the tree, he was told that it did not grow there, but
farther north, in the Orkneys. And so he did not see the tree.

In 1597, John Gerard, in the third book of his "Herbal, or History
of Plants," writes as follows: "There are found in the north parts
of Scotland and the Islands adjacent called Orchades, certaine trees
whereon do grow certaine shell-fishes of a white colour tending to
russett, wherein are contained little creatures which shels in
time of maturity doe open and out of them grow those little living
things which, falling into the water, doe become foules whom we call
Barnacles, in the north of England Brent Geese, and in Lancashire Tree
Geese." Gerard is here either adopting or suggesting an identification
of the tradition of the tree which produces birds from its buds, with
the floating timber bearing ship's barnacles, which were supposed to
give birth to the brent geese. He does not say that he has seen, or
knows persons who have seen, the barnacles attached to the branches
of living trees. Nevertheless, he gives a picture of them so attached
(Fig. 13). It has been suggested, in later times, that such a fixation
of barnacles to the branches of living trees might occur in some of
the sea-water lochs of the west of Scotland,--just as oysters become
attached to the mangrove trees in the West Indies,--and it has further
been suggested that willows might thus droop their branches into the
sea-water, and that the catkins on the willow-shoots might be taken
for an early stage of growth of the barnacles; but I have not come
across any record of such fixation of barnacles on living shrubs or
branches of trees, and I am inclined to think that Gerard's story of
what occurs in the distant Orkneys is merely an attempt to substantiate
the bird-producing tree of the Oriental story, by quietly assuming that
the sea-borne timber covered with barnacles existed somewhere as living
trees and exhibited this same property of budding forth barnacles
which on opening liberated each a minute gosling. Gerard continues as
follows: "But what our eyes have seen and hands have handled we shall
declare." There is, he tells us, a small island in Lancashire called
the Pile of Foulders, and there rotten trees and the broken timbers of
derelict ships are thrown up by the sea. On them forms "a certain spume
or froth which in time breeds into certaine shells." He then gives a
description of these shells and the fish contained therein, which is
a correct enough account of the common ship's barnacle. He proceeds,
however, to an assertion which is not of something which he saw or
handled, namely, that the animal within the shell, though like the fish
of an oyster, gradually grows to a bird and comes forth hanging to the
shell by its bill. Finally, he says, it escapes to maturity. At the end
of his chapter on this subject, Gerard says: "I dare not absolutely
avouch every circumstance of the first part of this history concerning
the tree which beareth those buds aforesaide, but will leave it to a
further consideration."

[Illustration: FIG. 13.--The picture of the "Goose Tree," copied from
the first edition of Gerard's "Herbal."

The fruit-like oval bodies are "barnacles" (Lepas) fancifully
represented as growing like buds or fruit on a little tree. Some
of the young geese are drawn as in the act of escaping from the
barnacle-shells, and others are represented swimming in the water.]

Gerard's "Herbal" was reprinted forty years later (in 1636) and edited
by Johnson, a member of the Society of Apothecaries. He writes with
contempt of Gerard's credulity as to the story of the barnacle and the
goose, and states that certain "Hollanders" in seeking a north-east
passage to China had recently come across some islands in the Arctic
Sea which were the breeding-place of the so-called barnacle goose, and
had taken and eaten sixty of their eggs, besides young and old birds.

Probably there were always lovers of the marvellous and the occult who
favoured and would favour to-day the tradition of the conversion of
one animal into another and such wonders; and there were also both in
the days of ancient Greece and Rome, and even in the darkest of the
Middle Ages, men with a sceptical and inquiring spirit, who accepted no
traditional testimony, but demanded, as the basis of their admitting
something unlikely as nevertheless true, the trial of experiment and
the examination of specimens. What has happened since Gerard's time and
the incorporation of the Royal Society in 1662, is that the sceptical
men have got the upper hand, though not without much opposition. In
this country, owing to the defective education administered in our
public schools and older universities, there is still quite a large
number of well-to-do people ready to believe in any "occult" imposture
or fantasy that may be skilfully brought to their notice.

On the other hand, we must bear in mind when we consider these strange
beliefs held by really learned and intelligent men in the past, that
the investigation of nature had not advanced very far in their time.
It was not held, as it is to-day, as an established fact that living
things are generated only by slips or cuttings of a parent or from eggs
or germs which are special detached particles of the parent. It was
held to be a matter of common observation and certainty that all sorts
of living things are "spontaneously generated" by slime, by sea foam,
by mud, and by decomposing dead bodies of animals and trees. It was
also held, in consequence of a blind belief in, and often a complete
misunderstanding of, the legends and fairy tales of the ancients and
of the preposterous "Bestiaries" and books on magic which were the
fashion in mediaeval times, that it is quite a usual and natural thing
for one animal or plant to change into another. Hence there was nothing
very surprising (though worthy of record) in a barnacle changing into
a young goose, or in the buds of a tree becoming in some conditions
changed into barnacles!

So, too, the notion that rotting timber can "generate" barnacles
was not, to our forefathers, at all out of the way or preposterous.
Sir Thomas Browne in 1646 was unable to make up his mind on this
matter, and believed in the spontaneous generation of mice by wheat,
to which he briefly alludes in his curious book called "Pseudodoxia
Epidemica, or an Enquiry into Vulgar and Common Errors." The account
of the creation given by the poet Milton was based upon the belief in
the daily occurrence of such spontaneous generation of living things
of high complexity of structure and large size, from slime and mud.
The process of creation of living things conceived by him was but a
general and initial exhibition of an activity of earth and sea which
in his belief was still in daily operation in remote and undisturbed
localities.

In 1668 the Italian naturalist, Redi, demonstrated that putrefying
flesh does not "spontaneously breed" maggots. He showed that if a piece
of flesh is protected by a wire network cover from the access of flies,
no maggots appear in it, and that the flies attracted by the smell of
the meat lay their eggs on the wire network, unable to reach the meat,
whilst if the wire cover is removed they lay their eggs on the meat,
and from them the maggots are hatched. It took a long time for this
demonstration by Redi to affect popular belief, and there are still
country folk who believe in the spontaneous generation of maggots.[4]

[4] See the chapter, "Primitive Beliefs about Fatherless Progeny," in
"Science from an Easy Chair," Second Series.

But few, if any, persons of ordinary intelligence or education now
believe that these sudden productions of living things, without regular
and known parentage, take place. The spontaneous generation of large,
tangible creatures having ceased to be an article of general belief,
the conviction nevertheless persisted for some time that at any rate
minute microscopic living things were generated without parentage. This
theory was more difficult to test on account of the need for employing
the microscope in the inquiry, which was not brought to a high state
of efficiency until the last century. By experiments similar to those
of Redi, it was shown in the first half of last century by Theodor
Schwann that even the minute bacteria do not appear in putrescible
material when those already in it are killed by boiling that material,
and when the subsequent access to it of other bacteria is prevented
by closing all possible entrance of air-borne particles, or insect
carriers of germs. It took another fifty years to thoroughly establish
by observation and experiment the truth of Schwann's refutation of the
supposed "spontaneous generation" of the minutest forms of life.

As an example of the strange incapacity for making correct observation
and the failure to record correctly things observed which are
frequently exhibited by the most highly placed "men of education,"
as well as by uneducated peasants and fisher folk, we have the short
paper entitled, "A Relation concerning Barnacles," by Sir Robert
Moray--the first president of the Royal Society of London (from 1661
until its incorporation in 1662)--a very distinguished man, and an
intimate friend of King Charles II. This paper was read to the society
in 1661 and published in 1677 in vol. xii. of the "Philosophical
Transactions." Sir Robert relates how he found on the coast a quantity
of dead barnacles attached to a piece of timber, and that in each
barnacle's shell was a bird. He writes: "This bird in every shell
that I opened, as well the least as the biggest, I found so curiously
and completely formed that there appeared nothing wanting, as to the
external parts, for making up a perfect sea-fowl; every little part
appearing so distinctly that the whole looked like a large bird seen
through a concave or diminishing glass, colour and feature being
everywhere so clear and near. The little bill like that of a goose, the
eyes marked, the head, neck, breast, wings, tail and feet formed, the
feathers everywhere perfectly shaped and blackish coloured, and the
feet like those of other waterfowl--_to my best remembrance_. All being
dead and dry, I did not look after the inward parts of them." If the
reader will now look at Fig. 15, C, which represents the soft parts of
a barnacle when the shells of one side are removed, he will see how far
Sir Robert Moray must have been the victim--as so many people naturally
are under such circumstances--of imagination and defective memory when
he wrote this account. I have put into italics in the above quotation
from his "Relation" his confession that he is writing, not with his
specimens before him, but from remembrance of them. Moreover, he tells
us, with admirable candour, that the specimens were dead and dry when
he examined them! One could not desire a better justification for the
motto adopted by the Royal Society, "Nullius in verba," and for the
procedure upon which in its early days the Society insisted--namely,
that at its meetings the members should "bring in" a specimen or an
experiment, and not occupy time by mere relations and reports of
marvels. It is necessary even at the present day to insist on such
demonstration by those who urge us to accept as true their relations of
mysterious experiences with ghosts, and their "conviction" that they
have conversed with "discarnate intelligences."

CHAPTER XV

MORE AS TO THE BARNACLE AND THE GOOSE

IT is clear that there was a widespread tradition known to the learned
in the early centuries of the Christian era, according to which there
existed in some distant Eastern land a tree which bore buds or fruits
which became converted into birds. Connected with this, and perhaps
really a part of it, there existed a tradition that marine "barnacles"
gave birth to geese from within their shells, or are in some way
converted into geese. The two stories were in some localities and
narrations combined, though in others they were distinct. On the coast
of Ireland the early missionaries of the Church (learned men acquainted
with the traditions of their time) identified the migratory brent goose
with the bird said to be produced by the barnacle; and elsewhere, on
the Scottish coast, the barnacles were (it was reported) found growing
on trees. There is no such resemblance between barnacles and brent
geese as to have suggested to the Irish monks the regular and natural
conversion of one into the other. It seems most probable that the
learned churchmen knew the traditional story already before arriving
in Ireland, and applied it to the barnacles and the geese which
they discovered around them. Eventually the word "barnacle" without
qualification was applied to the geese, as we see in Gerard's account
given in the last chapter. Is there, it may be asked, anything further
known as to such a tradition, and the place and manner of its origin?
In the absence of such knowledge, an ingenious attempt was made by my
old friend, Professor Max Müller, to account for the tradition by the
similarity of the names, which he erroneously supposed had been given
_independently_ to the barnacle and to the "Hibernian" goose. I will
refer to this below, but now I will proceed to give the most probable
solution of the mystery as to the tradition of the tree, the goose,
and the barnacle. Its discovery is not more than twenty years old, and
is due to M. Frederic Houssay, a distinguished French zoologist of the
Ecole Normale, who published it in the "Revue Archeologique" in 1895.
It has not hitherto been brought to the notice of English readers, and
I shall therefore give a full account of it.

[Illustration: FIG. 14.--Fanciful designs by Mykenæan artists, showing
change of the cuttle-fish (octopus or "poulpe") into a bull's head and
other shapes.

a, Octopus drawn on a goblet from Crete, the arms reduced to two, the
eyes detached.

b and c, Bull's head variations of the octopus, from designs found at
Koban in the Caucasus.

d, Spiral treatment of the arms of the octopus (a pose actually seen in
living specimens).

e, f, Human faces painted on Cretan jars across the whole width of the
neck, the design being derived from the octopus with detached eyes as
in Fig. a. Such designs survive long after their origin is forgotten,
as (according to M. Houssay) the legend of the barnacle and the goose
survived two thousand years after the Mykenæan drawings assimilating
one to the other had been forgotten.]

The solution is as follows: The Mykenæan population of the islands of
Cyprus and Crete, in the period 800 to 1000 years before Christ, were
great makers of pottery, and painted large earthernware basins and
vases with a variety of decorative representations of marine life, of
fishes, butterflies, birds, and trees. Some of these are to be seen in
the British Museum at Bloomsbury, where I examined them a few years
ago. Others have been figured by the well-known archæologists, MM.
Perrot and Chipiez, in the sixth volume of their work, "L'Ossuaire de
Crète." M. Perrot consulted M. Houssay, in his capacity of zoologist,
in regard to these Mykenæan drawings, which bear, as M. Houssay states,
the evidence of having been designed _after nature_ by one who knew
the things in life, although they are not slavishly "copied" from
nature. These early Mykenæan painters on pottery were members of a
community who worshipped the great mother--"Nature"--as Astarte or
Aphrodite risen from the foam of the sea. Being sailors and fishermen,
marine life was even more familiar to them than that of the land, and
they placed little models of sea animals as votive offerings in the
temples of the great mother, and also honoured her in decorating their
pottery with marine creatures. The little fish, Hippocampus, called
the sea-horse, the sea-urchin, the octopus, the argonaut and its
floating cradle, the sea-anemone, and the butterfly-like Pteropod,
were subjects used by these artists for which they found terrestrial
counterparts. The sea-horse was convertible decoratively into a true
horse, with intermediate phases imagined by the artists; the sea-urchin
into a hedgehog, the sea-anemone into a flower, and the Pteropod into
a true butterfly. These artists loved to exercise a little fancy and
ingenuity. By gradual reduction in the number and size of outstanding
parts--a common rule in the artistic "schematizing" or "conventional
simplification" of natural form--they converted the octopus and the
argonaut, with their eight arms, into a bull's head with a pair of
spiral horns (Fig. 14). In the same spirit it seems that they observed
and drew the barnacle floating on timber or thrown up after a storm
on their shores. They detected a resemblance in the marking of its
shells to the plumage of a goose, whilst in the curvature of its stalk
they saw a resemblance to the long neck of the bird. The barnacle's
jointed plumose legs or cirri and other details suggested points of
agreement with the feathers of the bird. They brought the barnacle and
the goose together, not guided thereto by any pre-existing legend, but
by a simple and not uncommon artistic desire to follow up a superficial
suggestion of similarity and to conceive of intermediate connecting
forms. Some of their fanciful drawings with this purpose are shown in
Figs. 15, 16, and 17. These (excepting the drawing of the barnacle
lying within its opened shell) are copied from M. Houssay's paper
on the subject, and were taken from the work of M. Perrot on Cretan
pottery.

[Illustration: FIG. 15.--The Goose and the Barnacle.

A, Drawing of a Ship's Barnacle attached to a piece of timber by its
"peduncle" or stalk, which represents the neck of a goose, if we regard
the shell-covered region as the goose's body. From a sketch by M.
Frederic Houssay published in the "Revue Archæologique," January 1895.

B, Copy of a drawing on an ancient Mykenæan pot found in Crete, and
figured by M. Perrot in his "Ossuaire de Crète" vol. vi. p. 936. It is
a fantastic blend of the goose and the barnacle. The barnacle's stalk
is given a beak and an eye; the body of the bird corresponds to the
shells of the barnacle both in shape and marking. There are no wings or
legs, but the curious single limb which I have marked pe is obviously
the same thing as that marked pe in figure C, which represents the
barnacle when cut open so as to show the structures within the shell,
pe is the rod-like body at the end of which the seminal duct opens.
It is seen in the drawing of the expanded barnacle (Fig. 10), lying
between the two groups of six forked and jointed legs or "cirri."

C, A correct modern drawing of a ship's barnacle, with the shells of
one side removed so as to show the six double legs of one side, the
seminal rod (pe), and the internal organs. This is what Sir Robert
Moray and his mediaeval predecessors saw on opening the barnacle's
shell and described as "a young bird complete in every detail."]

[Illustration: FIG. 16.--Copy of a series of modified geese painted
on an early Mykenæan pot, figured by M. Perrot. Each has two jointed
appendages on the back, which suggest the wing feathers of the bird or
two of the jointed legs (cirri) of the barnacle, which issue in life
from this part of the barnacle's shell. The legs of the geese are very
small and absent in the fifth. The markings on the body differ in each
bird, but recall the shell of the barnacle divided into several valves
marked with parallel striations. They may also pass for the plumage of
the bird.]

The intention of the artist to fantastically insist on intermediate
phases between goose and barnacle is placed beyond doubt by certain
details. For instance, in Fig. 16, the little jointed processes on
the back of the goose marked a, correspond in position to the cirri
or legs of the barnacle. They are reduced in number to two, and
simplified in form so as to pass for the tips of the wings of the
goose. The goose's own feet are represented in their natural position.
The most extraordinary piece of resemblance in detail is that given
in Fig. 15, B, which is a copy of a very much "barnaculized" goose
from one of these ancient dishes. What does the Mykenæan artist mean
to represent by the strange single leg-like limb marked pe? When we
carefully examine the barnacle's soft body concealed by its shell, it
becomes obvious that this leg-like thing corresponds to the single
stalk-like body, ending in a bunch of a few hairs which is marked pe in
Fig. 15, C. This last-named figure is a careful modern representation
of the soft living barnacle, as seen when the shells of one side are
removed. The cylindrical body pe of Fig. 15, C, which is drawn by the
Mykenæan artist on an exaggerated scale in Fig. 15, B, is the external
opening of the seminal duct of the barnacle. It is remarkable that the
Mykenæan pottery-painter had observed the soft "fish" of the barnacle
so minutely as to select this unpaired and very peculiar-looking
structure, and represent it of exaggerated size attached in its proper
position on the barnacle-like body of a goose. This very striking
transference of a peculiar and characteristic organ of the barnacle to
the body of the goose by the artist seems not to have been noticed by
M. Houssay.

[Illustration: FIG. 17.--Two drawings on pottery of modified geese,
from Perrot's "Ossuaire de Crète." The three lines above the back of
the upper figure probably represent the legs or cirri of the barnacle,
which are represented by two jointed appendages in the geese shown in
Fig. 16.]

M. Houssay further points out the existence on some of the Mykenæan
pottery of drawings (see "L'Ossuaire de Crète," by MM. Perrot and
Chipiez) of leaves attached to tree-like stems. These leaves (Fig.
18, a, b, c) exhibit the same markings ("venation") which we see on
the bodies of the geese in Fig. 16, especially the middle one of the
five. The leaves (or fruits?) copied by M. Houssay from the Mykenæan
pottery are attached in a series to a stem--but no one, at present,
has suggested what plant it is which is represented. The corners of
the leaf or fruit to the right and left of its stalk are thrown into
a spiral--and the half leaf or half fruit represented in Fig. 18, b,
leads us on to that drawn in Fig. 18, c, in which the spiral corner is
slightly modified in curvature so as to resemble the head and neck of
the goose as drawn in Fig. 16. Though Fig. 18, c, is as yet devoid of
legs or wing feathers (compare Fig. 16, d), the black band along the
belly with the band of vertical markings above it agrees closely with
the design on the body of the middle goose of the series drawn in Fig.
16. As these are associated in the decoration of the Mykenæan artists,
it is fairly evident that the intention has been to manipulate the
drawing of the leaf or fruit so as to make it resemble the drawing of
the goose, whilst that in its turn is modified so as to emphasize or
idealize its points of resemblance to a barnacle.

[Illustration: FIG. 18.--Leaves from the tree, drawn on a Mykenæan pot
which, according to M. Perrot, are fancifully designed so as to assume
step by step (a, b, c) the form of a goose. This appears either to
represent the tree which, according to legend, produced birds as buds
on its branches, or to be a fanciful design which gave rise to that
legend. The artist's intention of making the leaf gradually pass into
the semblance of a goose, is strongly emphasized by the purely fanciful
"venation" of the leaf which agrees with the equally fanciful ornament
of the bodies of the geese in Fig. 16, especially the middle one of the
series.]

It is true enough that the drawings from Mykenæan pots here submitted
cannot be considered as a complete demonstration that the legend of the
tree-goose originated with these drawings. But it must be remembered
that we have only a small number of examples of this pottery surviving
from a thousand years B.C. It is probable that the fanciful decorative
design of a master artist was copied and used in the painting of
hundreds of pots by mere workmen or inferior craftsmen, and that more
complete and impressive designs showing the fanciful transformation
of leaf or fruit to goose, and of goose to barnacle, existed both
before and after the making of the particular pots and jars which
have come down to us. The supposition made by M. Houssay (which I
entirely support) is that some later Levantine people--to whom these
decorated pots or copies of their decorations became known either in
the regular way of trade or as sailors' "curios"--were led to attempt
an explanation of the significance of the pictures drawn upon them,
and in accordance with a well-known and rooted tendency--interpreted
the fancies of the artist as careful representations of astonishing
fact. The existence of a tree which produces buds which become birds,
and of a barnacle which becomes transformed into a goose--is the
matter-of-fact interpretation of the few pictures of these animals
which have come down to us, modern men, painted on the few pots of that
remote Mykenæan industry now in our museums. It is not at all unlikely
that in the vast period of time between 1000 B.C. and 1000 A.D., the
more striking of these designs had been copied and familiarized in some
part of the ancient world. It is true that we do not at present know
in what part: we have not yet come across these designs of later date
than 800 B.C. The absence of the story of the tree-goose from Greek
and Roman lore is striking. Neither Aristotle nor Herodotus knew of
it, although it has been erroneously stated that they refer to it. Yet
the source of it was there in the Greek isles almost under their noses
(if one may speak of the noses of such splendid and worshipful men of
old) in the artistic work--otherwise not unknown to the Greeks--of a
civilization which preceded their own by hundreds of years. There is
other and ample evidence--as for instance that of the representation of
the "flying gallop" (see "Science from an Easy Chair," Second Series,
pp. 57 and 63), showing that Mykenæan art had little or no direct
effect on the Hellenes, although the reputation of the skill of the old
race in metal work came through many generations to them. Mykenæan art
seems to have migrated with Mykenæan settlers to the remote region of
the Caucasus. In the necropolis of Koban and other remote settlements,
Mykenæan designs in bronze and gold--including the horse in flying
gallop and octopods transformed to bull's heads--have been found and
pictured (Ernest Chantre, "Recherches anthropologique dans Caucase,"
4 vols.: Paris, 1886). They are believed to date from 500 B.C. It is
possible that in such remote regions or in some of the Greek islands
the pictures of the tree-goose and the barnacle may have survived until
the new dispensation--that is, until the days of the Byzantine Empire.
Once we can trace either the pictures or the legend up to that point,
there is no difficulty about admitting the radiation of the wonderful
story from that centre to the Jews of the Kabbalah, to Arabic writers,
and so to the learned men of the Christian Church and the seats of
learning throughout Europe and a great part of Asia.

Of the history of the legend during two thousand years we have no
actual knowledge. It remains for investigation. But undoubtedly these
Mykenæan pottery paintings remove the origin of the story to a period
two thousand years older than that of the Irish monks.

One additional fact I may mention as to the existence of the goose
and barnacle legend in the East. I am informed that in Java there is,
according to "native" story, a shell-fish the animal of which becomes
transformed into a bird--said to be a kind of snipe--and flies from
the shell. I have been shown the shell by a Dutch lady who has lived
in Java. It is a large fresh-water mussel, one of the Unionidæ. I have
failed to obtain, after inquiry, any further information as to the
prevalence or origin of this story in Java, and hope that some one who
reads this page may be able to help me.

Before leaving the story of the goose and the barnacle, the explanation
of the myth given by Prof. Max Müller in his lectures on the science of
language nearly fifty years ago, should be cited. It is an excellent
example of the misuse of hypothesis in investigation, and the attempt
to explain something which we cannot get at and examine by making a
supposition which it is even more difficult to examine and test.

Max Müller made use of the observation--a perfectly true and
interesting one--that a whole people or folk will be led to a wrong
conclusion, or to a belief in some strange and marvellous occurrence,
by the misunderstanding of a single word, attributing to that word
a sense which now fits the sound, but one quite different from that
with which the word was originally used in the tradition or history
concerned. Words are, in fact, misinterpreted after a lapse of time, or
when imported from distant lands, just as we have seen that pictures
and sculpture often have been. For instance, Richard Whittington, who
was Lord Mayor of London in 1398 and other later years, did business
in French goods, which was spoken of in the city as "achat," and
pronounced "akat." Hence in later centuries, when the prevalence of
Norman French was forgotten, it was stated (in a play produced in
1605) that Whittington owed his fortune to "a cat," and the story
of the wonderful cat and its deeds was built up "line upon line" or
"lie upon lie." Max Müller suggested that the story of the barnacle
and the goose could be similarly explained. The brant or brent goose
which frequents the Irish shore was, he supposes, called "berniculus"
by the Latin-speaking clergy as a diminutive of Hibernicus, meaning
"Irish." There is absolutely no evidence to support this. Max Müller
supposes that Hibernicus became "Hiberniculus," and then dropping the
first syllable became "Berniculus," and that this word was applied to
the "Irish goose." It might have been, but there is nothing to show
that it was. Meanwhile the ship's barnacle and other sea-shells were
called in the Celtic tongue "barnagh," "berniche," or "bernak," and the
hermit-crab is still called on the Breton coast, "Bernard l'hermite,"
a modification of "bernak l'hermite." There is no doubt that the word
"barnacle" as applied to the stalked shell-fish growing on ships'
bottoms is a diminutive of the Celtic word "bernak," or "barnak." It
became in Latin "barnacus," and then the diminutive "barnaculus," and
so "barnacle" was used for the little stalked shell-fish encrusting old
timber. According to Max Müller, later generations thus found the two
animals, goose and shell-fish, called by the same name, "bernikle," or
"barnacle." "Why?" they would ask: and then (he supposes) they would
compare the two and detect points of resemblance, until at last a very
devout and astute monk had the happy thought of declaring that the
Hibernian goose was called "berniculus," or "barnak-goose," _because_
it did not breed from eggs as other birds do, but is hatched out of
the shell of the shell-fish, also very naturally and rightly called
"berniculus," or barnak, as any one may see by carefully examining the
fish contained in the shell of the barnacle or little stalked "barnak,"
which has the complete form of a bird. Since, however, it is not a
bird, but a fish in nature and origin, this holy man declared that
the "berniculus," or "barnacle-goose," may be eaten on fast days. Max
Müller's explanation of the origin of the story is too adventurous in
its unsupported assumption that the particular goose associated with
the story was peculiarly Irish, or that, in fact, any kind of goose
was so. He also put aside the evidence of Father Damien (earlier than
the Irish story of Giraldus) referring the goose-tree to an island in
the Indies, and the report cited in the Oriental book the "Zohar."
However plausible Max Müller's theory may have appeared, it absolutely
crumbles and disappears in the presence of the Mykenæan pictures of
"barnaculized" geese, and trees budding birds--two thousand years older
than the Irish record, and nearly three thousand years earlier than the
essay of the charming and persuasive professor.

CHAPTER XVI

SEA-SHELLS ON THE SEASHORE

ANY hard coat or covering enclosing a softer material is called a
"shell"--thus we speak of an egg-shell, a nut-shell, a bomb-shell,
and the shell of a lobster. But there is a special and restricted use
of the word to indicate as "true" and "real" shells the beautiful
coverings made for their protection by the soft, mobile animals called
Molluscs. These animals expand and contract first this and then that
region of the body by squeezing the blood within it (by means of the
soft muscular coat of the sac-like body) into one part or another
in turn. There is not enough blood to distend the whole animal, and
accordingly one part is swollen out and protrudes from the shell,
whilst another shrinks as the blood is propelled here or there by the
compressing muscular coat. These creatures are the Molluscs, a name
which has come into general use (and has even served as the title for
a stage-play), as well as being the zoologist's title for the great
division of animals which they constitute.

They are sometimes called "shell-fish," but this is no good as a
distinctive name--since it is applied in the fish-trade to lobsters,
crabs, and shrimps as well as to Molluscs. Lobsters, crabs, and shrimps
are Crustacea, and totally different in their architecture and their
mechanism from Molluscs. Familiar examples of Molluscs are the oyster,
the mussel, the various "clams," and, again, the snails, periwinkles,
whelks, and limpets. It is the shells of these animals which are
"true" shells in the sense in which the word is used by "collectors"
of shells, and in the sense in which we speak of "the shells of the
seashore." These shells are usually very hard, solid things, made up
of layers of lime-salts and horny matter mixed, and they remain for a
long time undestroyed, washed about by the currents of the sea, and
thrown up on to the beach, after the soft, oozy creature which formed
them--chemically secreted them on its soft skin--has decomposed and
disappeared. They are readily distinguished into two sorts--(1) those
which are formed in pairs, or "bivalves," each member of the pair being
called a "valve"; and (2) those which are single, or "univalves," often
spirally twisted, as are those of snails and whelks, but sometimes
cap-like or basin-like, as are the shells of the limpets. There is not
so great a difference between bivalve and univalve shells as there
seems to be at first sight. For if you examine the pair of shells of
a mussel or a clam when they are quite fresh, you will find that the
valves are joined together by a horny, elastic substance, and are, in
fact, only one horny shell, or covering, which is made hard by lime
deposited on the right and on the left, as two plates or valves, but
is left soft and uncalcified along a line where these two valves meet,
so as to allow them to move and gape, as it were, on an elastic hinge.
It is the fact that the two valves of the shell of the bivalve, lying
right and left on its body, correspond to the single shell of the snail
or limpet, which differs from the bivalve-shell in not being divided
along the back by a soft part into right and left pieces. That there
is this real agreement between bivalve and univalve molluscs is quite
evident when we examine the soft animal which forms the shell and is
protected by it.

[Illustration: FIG. 19.--Some British Marine Bivalve Molluscs.

a, The smaller Piddock, Pholas parva, which bores into chalk, clay, and
hard rock. Natural size.

b, The Razor-shell, Solen siliqua. The muscular foot is seen protruding
from the shell. One-third the natural size, linear.

c, Venus verrucosa. Natural size.

d, Cardium echinatum. Two-thirds the natural size, linear.

e, Pinna pectinata, the "cappy longy." One-fifth of the natural size,
linear.]

Though "shells" are often numerous on parts of the seashore, some
beaches (as, for instance, at Falmouth, at the mouth of the Eden of St.
Andrews, and at Herm in the Channel Islands) being so placed in regard
to the currents and waves of the sea that great quantities of shells
of dozens of species are thrown up, and even "make up" the beach, yet
there are not so very many Molluscs which live commonly on the shore
between tide-marks. The shells which are accumulated as shell-beaches
have come from animals which lived in quantity at depths of ten or
twenty fathoms, whence they can be brought up alive by the dredge.
There are, however, certain bivalves and certain univalves which are
commonly to be found in the living state between tide-marks. You will
not find the oyster there on our own coast, but in Australia they have
picnic parties where every guest provides himself with a hammer and a
bottle of vinegar and a pepper-pot, and at low tide proceeds to chip
the oysters off the rocks on which they grow tightly fixed, and to eat
them "right away" before they have time to lose their good temper and
sweetness! In Jamaica they show you oysters apparently growing on trees
high up in the air, but they are dead, having attached themselves to
the branches of a young tree which dipped into the water. Once fixed
there, they were unable to move as the tree grew and carried them up
with its branches above the sea-level.

The only bivalve at all common and visible to the eye between
tide-marks is the common or edible sea-mussel, which is attached
in purple clusters to the rocks (as in North Cornwall), or forms a
wide-spreading pavement, called a "scalp," of as much as an acre in
extent, on which thousands of mussels lie side by side. But by digging
in the sand and mud between tides there are other living bivalves to be
found, which burrow more or less deeply. The razor-shell (Fig. 19, b)
is one of these (see p. 80). Often (as at Teignmouth and Barmouth) we
find "cockles" buried in the sand, and those delicate, smooth bivalves
not an inch long, white outside and purple within, which are made into
soup at Naples and are called "vongoli," but have no English name.
Other "clams" (Tapes, which is eaten in France, even in Paris, and Mya,
and Scrobicularia which lives in black mud) may be dug up, but they are
devoid of English names because we do not eat them; hence I have to
speak of them by their Latin scientific names. As to univalves, there
are three which are found almost everywhere on our coasts where there
are rocks, namely, the periwinkles (one species of which actually
lives above high tide-mark), the limpet, and the dog-whelk. A small
species of top-shell or trochus is also very common, and so is the
chiton, or armadillo-shell, which, though really the most primitive
and nearest representative of the ancestors of all univalve molluscs,
yet has its own shell of a very peculiar character (sometimes with
very minute eyes--true eyes--dotted about on it), and always divided
transversely to its length (not right and left) into eight separate
pieces, which, indeed, seem to be really separate, independent little
shells, corresponding to eight segments like the segments of a shrimp
or an earth-worm.

Let us now compare the soft animal of one of the bivalves--say
the common cockle--with the soft animal to which a univalve shell
belongs--say the limpet. They can be kept alive and watched in a
finger-glass of sea-water, and can be removed from their shells and
examined more closely--by killing them by dipping them for half a
minute into very hot (not boiling) water. Both these molluscs--like
all others--adhere tightly at one place to the shell. They cannot be
removed from it alive, and make a new shell or creep back into the old
one, as can some worms (_e.g._ the serpula) and other creatures which
form a hard shell to live in. Certain muscles of the soft mollusc
are so closely fixed to the shell that they must be torn in order to
separate it. These muscles draw the two valves of the bivalve together,
and shut it tight. You can verify this whenever the oyster-man "opens"
an oyster for you. When at rest the shells gape, being kept open by the
horny, elastic hinge-piece. Some bivalves (for instance, the common
scallop, or pilgrim's shell, which can often be dredged in shallow
water, and of which a large kind is sold in the London fish shops)
actually swim in the sea-water by aid of this mechanism, the shells
opening by elasticity and being closed by the muscle joining one to the
other, at rapid intervals, flapping like the wings of a butterfly.

In the univalves the attachment of the muscle to the shell gives a
fixed point for all the movements of the animal. The limpet has a
well-marked head and neck--a pair of sensitive tentacles, and a small
pair of dark-coloured eyes. The mouth is at the end of a sort of short
snout. Just within the mouth, and capable of being pushed forwards to
the level of the lips, is a most extraordinary rasp. It consists of a
long ribbon, beset with fine horny teeth--very sharp and complicated in
pattern. The ribbon extends far back into the body, and is worn away by
constant use at the orifice of the mouth. It grows forward, like one
of our finger-nails, as it wears out, and a new, unworn portion takes
the place of that worn away. It is constantly in use to rasp and bring
into the mouth the particles of the seaweed on which the limpet feeds.
It is easy to remove this rasping ribbon with a needle or pen-knife,
and examine it with a microscope. Every one of the hundreds of kinds of
univalve molluscs has this ribbon-rasp, and its teeth are of different
patterns in the various kinds. It is worked by very powerful little
muscles, backwards and forwards, and is strong enough in the whelks to
bore a round hole into other shells (for instance, that of the oyster),
when the whelk proceeds to eat the soft animal, whose protecting shell
has been thus penetrated. Some of the large marine snails produce a
poisonous secretion from the mouth, which renders their attack with
the ribbon-rasp all the more deadly to other marine creatures. The
cuttle-fishes and octopods, which are molluscs too, possess, like the
univalve limpets, snails, and whelks, this terrible ribbon-rasp in
the mouth. It is an indication of a common parentage or ancestral
relationship in the forms which possess it.

The cockle (Fig. 19, d), to which we now turn, has not got a
ribbon-rasp, nor anything of the kind. It has a mouth with four
flapper-like lips, but no projecting head, no eyes, no biting
mechanism, nor have any of the bivalves, excepting a few which like the
scallop have a series of eyes on the edge of the soft mantle or flap
which lines the shell. This constitutes a greater difference between
bivalves and the univalves than does the shape of the shell. They are
a very quiescent, peaceful lot, feeding on microscopic floating plants
(diatoms and such), which are drawn to the mouth by currents of water
set going by millions of vibrating hairs arranged on four soft plates
hanging under the protecting arch of the shell, and called in the
oyster--in which bivalve most people know them--the "beard."

The limpet adheres to rocks by a great disk-like mass of muscle, which
is called "the foot." It is really the whole ventral surface, and it
can loosen its hold, and, by curious ripples of contraction, cause
the animal to creep or glide over the rock. At low tide the limpet is
exposed to the air, and remains motionless, but when the tide is up
it makes a small excursion in search of food, never going more than a
foot or two from the spot which it has chosen, and returning to it,
so that in the course of time it actually wears away a sort of cup or
depression at this spot--if the rock is not of exceptional hardness.
The word "foot" is applied to the ventral disk-like surface of the
limpet, because in many univalves this region becomes drawn out, and
is connected by a comparatively narrow and nipped-in stalk or pillar
with the rest of the animal. This occurs in the univalves which have
large spiral shells, into which the whole of the soft animal can be
deeply withdrawn, which is not the case with the limpet. You may find
on the shore at Torquay a sea-snail (Natica), in which the animal is
quite invisible, drawn far up into the shell. Place this in sea-water
and watch it. Soft semi-transparent lobes begin to issue from the
mouth of the shell, part of the soft distensible foot appears swelling
out and growing bigger and bigger, and soft folds spread out from the
mouth of the shell, and gently creep over it, and completely envelop
it; the foot begins to grip the bottom of the vessel, and the animal
"crawls." At last, swelling out from the other folds of soft but tense
"molluscan" substance, the head and its tentacles emerge. Touch the
animal and it shrinks rapidly, disappearing into the shell.

It used to be thought (about twenty-five years ago) that the molluscs
expand their bodies in this manner by taking water, through definite
apertures provided with valves, into their blood, and that, having
thus swelled themselves out, they could shrink and reduce themselves
by pouring out again the in-taken water. The behaviour of some other
marine animals, namely the sea-anemones, which really do act in this
way, made this explanation of the swelling and shrinking of molluscs
seem probable. It was also known that the star-fishes and sea-urchins
actually do take in the sea-water into a system of vessels connected
with their wonderful sucker-bearing tentacles. But it turned out on
close examination that the molluscs do not take in or shed out water in
this way. A hole, which was thought to let in water into the blood of
sea-snails, was shown to be only the opening of a great slime-gland.
In the case of some bivalves which have red-blood corpuscles, I showed
that the blood is never made paler, nor are the red corpuscles shed
during the great distensions and contractions of the body. Measurements
were made to determine the removal of water from a glass jar by an
expanding sea-snail, and it was found that none is removed or taken
up; in fact, the whole of what is very often an astonishingly large
and bulky distension of the foot, or of lobes of the body, and the
subsequent rapid shrinking of the same parts, depend entirely on the
blood being injected from the rest of the body into the swelling part,
and squeezed from it into the depleted region when the swollen part
shrinks again. The firm, opaque shell hides from view the change of
shape of the concealed body, and we see only the distended foot or
other lobes which project from the shell.

The cockle has a "foot" of a very curious scythe-like shape, usually
carried bent up between the two valves of the shell. Those who
rightly like to confirm statements about unfamiliar animals can do
so by buying a cockle or two at the fishmonger's. Some bivalves (the
Noah's-ark-shell, called "Arca," and a few others) have a great flat
foot, like that of the univalves, and crawl about on it. But in most
bivalves it is curiously elongated and modified, for the purpose of
burrowing into sand by vigorous strokes, and in some it is suppressed
altogether, as in the oyster. The cockle is remarkable for the fact
that when placed on a board or a rock it will give such a vigorous kick
with its bent foot as to throw itself up a yard or so into the air. A
naturalist (Stutchbury) dredging in Port Jackson, Australia, many years
ago was overjoyed at discovering in his net three specimens of a very
peculiar kind of cockle (Trigonia), which was till then only known in
the fossil state from the oolite strata of Europe. He placed the three
novelties on the seat of his boat, and was looking at other things
when he heard a click-like sound, then another. He turned his head
and saw that two of his newly-discovered "living fossils" had jumped
overboard, and had the pleasure of seeing the third perform the same
feat!

CHAPTER XVII

SAND-HOPPERS

WHEREVER there is a sandy seashore with here and there masses of
dead seaweed and corallines thrown up by the waves, you will find
sand-hoppers feeding on the debris. They are crustaceans, like crabs,
shrimps, and barnacles, but in general aspect resemble enormous
fleas. I hope that this comparison will not enable any reader at
once to picture the less familiar by the more familiar. A good-sized
sand-hopper is about half an inch long, and jumps not by means of a
specially large pair of legs as the flea does, but by the stroke of
the hind body, the jointed rings of which are carried curled downwards
and ready to give a sudden blow. The sand-hopper (Fig. 20, a) has some
of the rings or segments of the mid-body distinct, and not fused with
those of the head or overhung by a great shield as in the lobster,
crab, and shrimp. His walking legs and jaw-legs are also not quite
of the same shape, though similar to those of a lobster, and his two
little black eyes are not mounted on stalks, but are flush with the
surface of the head. There are two quite distinct kinds of sand-hopper
which live in crowds together on our sandy shores. They are not very
different, but still are distinguished by naturalists from one another;
one is called Talitrus (Fig. 20, a), the other Orchestia (Fig. 20, b).
They are very similar in appearance and structure to a fresh-water
creature common in weedy streams, which has no English name (except
the general one of "fresh-water shrimp"), and is called by naturalists
Gammarus.

[Illustration: FIG. 20.--a, Talitrus locusta, b, Orchestia littorea,
the two common kinds of "sand-hopper." Of the natural size. c, A kind
of small lobster which burrows in the sand, Callianassa subterranea.
About two-thirds the natural size, linear.]

In the open sea there are many hundreds of kinds of small crustaceans
resembling the sand-hoppers in their compressed (not flattened) shape
of body and in the details of their legs and the grouping of the joints
of the body. Many of the smallest crustaceans which swarm in the
surface waters of the sea and form part of that floating population,
mostly of small transparent or iridescent and blue creatures, which
we call the "plankton," or "surface-floating" population, and may be
gathered by towing a very fine net behind a boat on a quiet day, can
produce flashes of light which are vivid enough when seen at night.
They contribute, together with jelly-fish and the teeming millions of
minute bladder-like Noctiluca, and other unicellular animalcules, to
produce that wonderful display seen from time to time on our coasts,
and called "the phosphorescence of the sea." These minute crustaceans
produce flashes of light by suddenly squeezing from pits or glands in
the skin a secretion which is chemically acted on (probably oxidized)
by the sea-water, the chemical action setting up light-vibrations, but
not the usual excess of heat-vibrations to which we are accustomed when
light accompanies ordinary "burning" or "combustion."

[Illustration: FIG. 21.--A Phosphorescent Shrimp (Euphausia pellucida).
The lamp-like phosphorescent organs are numbered 1 to 6. There is
another on the outer edge of the stalked eye, making seven in all on
each side of the animal. _g_, points to the hindermost gill, enlarged.]

Other crustaceans of several kinds, of an inch and more in
length--transparent, delicate creatures, resembling small prawns
in appearance--also produce light. Some of them are known by names
referring to this fact, such as Lucifer (light-bearer) and Nyctiphanes
(night-shiner). They possess special lantern-like knobs scattered
about on the body, which have transparent lenses, and resemble small
bull's-eye lanterns. Some have a row of seven lanterns on each side
of the body (Fig. 21), but one kind has as many as 150 dotted about.
These lanterns were only a few years ago thought to be eyes, and their
elaborate microscopic structure was described as that of an eye. Of
course, this was due to the fact that dead preserved specimens were
studied, and not the living animal. Some twenty years ago I witnessed
a most impressive exhibition of these phosphorescent shrimps at the
house of my friend Sir John Murray, of the "Challenger," at Millport,
on the Clyde. He had obtained them (the kind called Nyctiphanes) in
great quantities at a depth of ninety fathoms in the great Scotch
fiord, and amongst other curious facts about them had shown that they
enter Loch Fyne in vast numbers, and are the special nourishment of the
celebrated Loch Fyne herrings. It had been noticed that the intestine
of the plump, well-fed herrings is full of a deep-black substance, and
Sir John Murray showed that this was the black, indigestible pigment
of the eyes of the hundreds of phosphorescent shrimps swallowed by
these favoured fish, which owe their fine quality to their special
opportunity for feeding in the depths of the loch on the exceptionally
abundant and nutritious light-producing crustaceans! At night my friend
showed me a large glass vessel holding four or five gallons, in which
were a hundred or so of the phosphorescent shrimps swimming around. We
turned out the lamps of the room, and all was dark. Then a gentle tap
was given to the jar, and each little crustacean lit up, as though by
order, a row of seven minute lamps on each side of its body, swimming
along meanwhile, and reminding one of a passenger steamer, as seen from
the shore, as it glides along at night with its lights showing through
a row of cabin windows. The shrimps' lights shone steadily for a minute
or so, then ceased, and had to be lit up again by again signalling
their owners by knocking on the glass. These little lamps, with their
bull's-eye lenses, are far more elaborate structures than the glands
which in other cases cause a flash by discharging a luminous secretion
into the water. They are even more elaborate than the internal
permanent phosphorescent structure of the glow-worm (an insect, not a
crustacean), which has no condensing lens.

I have mentioned these phosphorescent organs of small and smallest
crustaceans because not many years ago a French naturalist, my friend
Professor Giard, found that many of the sand-hoppers on the great sandy
shore near Boulogne are phosphorescent. A year or two later I found
them myself on the shore above tide-mark at Ouistreham (Westerham),
near Caen, where they had actually been mistaken for glow-worms! It was
easy at night to pick up a dozen phosphorescent sand-hoppers during
a stroll of five or ten minutes on the sands. Yet I have never seen
them nor heard of their being seen on the English coast, and one of
the results which I hope for in mentioning them here is that some of
my readers will discover them on British sands and let me know. The
remarkable fact about the luminous sand-hoppers is that they have no
apparatus for producing light, and, as a matter of fact, do not produce
it! Their luminosity is a disease, and is due (as was shown by that
much-beloved teacher and discoverer the late Professor Giard) to the
infection of their blood by a bacillus. Hence it is only here and there
that you see the brilliant greenish ball of light on the sand due to a
phosphorescent sand-hopper. And when you pick it up you find that the
poor little thing is quite feeble and unable to hop. Examine its blood
under the microscope and you find it teeming with excessively minute
parasitic rods like those which cause the phosphorescence of dead fish,
of stale bones, and occasionally of butcher's meat. Similar bacilli may
be obtained by cultivation from any sea-water, and in such abundance
that a room can be lit up by a bottleful of the cultivation. Perhaps
all the light-producing bacteria or bacilli are only varieties of one
species--perhaps they are distinct species. Whether a species or a
variety, that which gets into the blood of the sand-hopper and gives
it the luminosity of a glow-worm, inevitably and rapidly causes its
death--a severe price to pay for brief nocturnal effulgence. Some of
the germs can be removed on a needle's point from the dead sand-hopper
and introduced by the most delicate puncture into a healthy sand-hopper
or into a young crab, with the result that they too become illuminated,
the bacillus multiplying within them. Being thus morbidly illuminated
and having astonished the crustacean, not to say the human world, by
their alarming brilliance, they quickly perish: a little history which
may be read as a parable. The sand-hoppers give the disease to one
another. It is, of course, a merely non-significant thing that the
bacillus happens to set up light vibrations. Its chemical activity is
concerned with its nourishment and growth, and in the course of these
processes it not only produces light but poisonous by-products which
kill its host. Some day we may get an "immune" race of sand-hoppers
who will acquire the illuminating bacillus and defy its poison. Then
we shall have a permanent and happy breed of brilliant sand-hoppers
illuminating the dark places of the seashore.

It is conceivable that some of the disease-producing bacilli (bacteria,
cocci, etc.) which multiply in man's blood and tissues should also
produce light vibrations, and if one could be found that would render
the blood luminous, whilst not producing much pain or _malaise_, no
doubt some excuse would be found for its use as a fashionable toilet
novelty. Cases are on record of luminosity of the surface of the body
and its secretions being developed during serious illness by human
beings, especially in acute phthisis; but these ancient records need
confirmation.

Luminous bacilli or bacteria only give out light when free oxygen is
in the water or liquid inhabited by them. A chemical combination of
the oxygen with substances in the bacteria is the necessary condition
of their evolution of light. When frozen, these bacteria cease to be
luminous--the chemical combination cannot take place when the substance
of the bacterium is frozen solid and maintained in that condition; the
liquid condition is a necessary condition for these changes. These
luminous bacteria have been used recently by Sir James Dewar in the
Faraday Laboratory of the Royal Institution (where Sir James has shown
them to me), for the purpose of investigating the action of intense
cold on living matter. Although their luminous response to oxygen
is arrested when they are frozen, yet immediately on allowing the
temperature to rise above freezing-point the response of the living
matter to oxidation recommences, and a luminous glow is seen. Hence
we have in this glow a ready means of answering the question, "Does
extreme cold, of long duration, destroy the simplest living matter?"
Sir James Dewar has exposed a film of these bacteria to the extremest
degree of cold as yet obtained in the laboratory, that at which
hydrogen gas is solidified, and he has kept them in this, or nearly
this, degree of cold for several months. Yet immediately on "thawing"
the luminous glow was visible in the dark, showing that the bacteria
were still alive. Curiously enough, whilst all chemical action in
living matter can be thus arrested by extreme cold, and yet resumed
on rise of temperature and restoration to the liquid condition, so
that the old phrase and the conception of "suspended animation" are
justified--yet there is one widely-distributed form of activity, the
effect of which the bacteria, even when hard frozen, cannot resist,
namely, that of the blue and ultra-blue rays of light. These rays, if
allowed to fall on the hardest frozen bacillus, get at its chemical
structure, shake it to pieces, destroy it. Hence Sir James Dewar argues
that, whilst it would appear that the extreme cold of space would
not kill a minute living germ, and prevent it passing from planet to
planet, or from remotest space to our earth, yet one thing which is
more abundant in space than within the shell of our atmosphere is
absolutely destructive to such minute particles of living matter,
even when hard-frozen, and that is intense light, the ultra-visible
vibrations of smallest wave-length.

[Illustration: A dance on the seashore: a sketch by Edward Forbes
(1852).]

CHAPTER XVIII

A SWISS INTERLUDE

AFTER the hot summer of 1911 I escaped from London in September and
made straight for Interlaken. Thence I was "wafted" by the electric
railway to the "Schynige Platte"--a wonderful hill-side, 4500 feet
above the "Bödeli," the flat meadowland in which Interlaken is placed.
At the Schynige Platte we are separated to the south from the Jungfrau
and the great Oberland range of mountains only by a deep rift in
which rushes the "Black Lütschine," coming down from Grindelwald to
join its "white" brother-torrent close beneath us at Zweilütschinen.
To reach the "Platte" we creep in our train up the northern side
of the mountain--one of whose peaks is known by the curious name
"Gummihorn"--for more than an hour without a glimpse of what is on
the other side. Then, when we are 6000 feet above sea-level, we enter
a short tunnel in the shoulder of the mountain, and all is dark.
When the train emerges every one in it gasps. You hear a cry from
every mouth--for the scene is astounding! Coming through that tunnel
we have stolen surreptitiously upon a band of gigantic snow-white
brethren--the Wetterhörner, the Schreckhörner, the Eiger, the Mönch,
the Jungfrau, the Mittaghorn, the Breithorn, and the Tschingelhorn.
There they are--lying close to us, unaware of our approach--naked and
unashamed, glistening in the sunlight, variously stretched in their
immense repose. One feels on seeing them thus free from every scrap of
cloud and clothing as though one had intruded upon a glorious company
of titanic beings innocently sunning themselves in perfect nudity. It
is with the sense that humble apologies for the intrusion are due to
them, and will be graciously accepted because we hold them in such
profound admiration and reverence, that we venture, little by little,
to let our eyes dwell on their wondrous beauty. There are moments, it
must be confessed, when we feel a qualm of modesty and are unwilling
to take advantage of our rare chance--moments when we should not be
surprised if one of the giants were to hurl a command at us--in terms
of thunder and avalanche--ordering us at once to retire to the other
side of the Gummihorn and leave them to their rightful privacy. There
is no great view of snow mountains at close range--not even that from
the Gornergrat--which is at once so fine and so easily accessible.

In the following year I went early in June in search of another Alpine
delight, the spring flowers--not those of the highest "downs" and
sheltering rocks 8000 or 9000 feet above sea-level, but those of the
higher meadows, where the pine forests are beginning to thin out, and
rich crops are cut before July by the skilful workers of the great
Swiss industry, that of cow-herding and the production of cheese. It is
difficult to define properly the term "Alpine" as applied to flowers.
It is now used by horticulturists very generally for those exquisite
small plants, the Saxifrages, Androsacæ, Gentians, etc., which grow
in the highest regions to which plant-life extends--regions which are
often covered by the winter's snow until June, and even late into that
month. Some of these plants (as, for instance, the Soldanellas--those
little lilac-coloured flowers like pendent foolscaps which are allied
to our primrose--and the crocus and the butterbur (Petasites)) actually
blossom beneath the snow and push their open flowers through it to the
sunlight. Others of these "higher Alpines" have a peculiar mode of
growth related to their special conditions of life. Their stems are
very short and their foliage closely set, so that they form compact
tufts or cushions, on which their short-stalked brilliant little
flowers are dotted. The fact is they have not time in the short summer
of these high regions to grow long stems. Their flowers are produced
on low-lying parts of the plant, which carry small and abundant green
leaves, but never send up long leaf-bearing stems. Not only do they
thus do quickly, and without needless upward growth, what they have
to do--namely, expose green leaves to the sunlight for nutrition and
their flowers to the fertilizing visits of insects so as to ripen their
reproductive seeds--but they benefit by keeping close to the warmth of
the ground, which is heated by the strong sunshine, and is three and a
half degrees higher in temperature than the cold moist air. In similar
positions in low-lying regions the difference between the temperature
of the air and that of the surface of the ground is not as much as one
degree.

The Alpine meadows do not occur above the height of 5000 to 6000 feet,
and are bordered by pine woods, in which are many beautiful plants
not to be found at all or not in such profusion in the lower valleys.
Both the meadows and woods of the Alpine heights graduate into those
of lower level, and it is difficult to draw the line and say these
flowers should be, and these should not be, called "Alpines." Many
rock-loving plants allied to those found at great heights flourish in
comparatively low-lying regions, where the necessary rocky character
exists. The flowers of the high Alpine meadows are not the rock-lovers,
the inhabitants of a surface formed by fragments of broken rock, to
which the name "Alpine" is often limited. The meadow plants grow on
good soil, and cover whole acres, in which there is but little grass.
The fields are coloured of almost uniform blue or white or purple or
yellow as the weeks go on, and various species one after another have
their turn of dominance and maturity.

I paid, first of all, a brief visit to Aix and the lakes of Bourget and
of Annecy, to the gorge of the River Fier, and to the finely-situated
monastery of the Grande Chartreuse--a huge building, devoid of beauty,
which it seems to be difficult to utilize now that the Carthusian
Brothers have been expelled. The richly-coloured Alpine centaury, deep
blue and purple red, was growing in the woods around it abundantly, and
many other handsome plants. Zoology was represented by most excellent
little trout provided for us at the village inn. Then I stayed a
couple of days at Geneva, where, in a pool in a richly-planted rock
garden--that of the well-known horticulturist M. Correvon--I came
across what I have long wished to see, namely, the blue variety of
the edible frog. Six years ago I wrote an account of the little blue
frog of Mentone, the rare variety of the green tree-frog, or rainette,
so abundant in that region (see "Science from an Easy Chair," p.
50: Methuen, 1910). The edible frog (Rana esculenta) is often very
beautifully coloured with blotches of dark brown and pale green, and a
pale yellow stripe down the back. It is easily distinguished from the
brown frog (Rana temporaria), which occurs with it. The latter is the
common frog of our islands, though we also find the edible frog in the
South of England. The blue variety of the edible frog has been seen
in various localities in Germany and along the valley of the Rhone.
It owes its colour, as does the blue tree-frog, to the suppression of
yellow pigment in its skin. The one I found was swimming in a small
clear pool with two other very finely-marked specimens of the more
usual colouring. A blue variety of our common brown frog has not been
observed, although it is occasionally very pale in colour and, on the
other hand, is sometimes of a bright orange-brown tint. Several species
of toads and frogs are found on the Continent which do not occur in
Great Britain.

Years ago (when France and Germany began the great war of 1869-70) I
travelled from Geneva to Chamonix by coach. It took the whole day. Now
I and my companion, avoiding the railway, were driven in a motor-car
past Bonneville, Cluses, and Sallanches (with its famous view of Mont
Blanc), and along the vale of Chamonix to its far end above Argentière
in less than three hours. Here we stayed a few days in the Hôtel du
Planet, at a height of 4500 feet, in order to enjoy the sight of the
meadows and woodland flowers. I may add that in this quiet hotel the
proprietor gave us simple, good food, well cooked, which is more than
I can say of the large hotels on the lakes and popular resorts, such
as Geneva, Montreux, Glion, and Interlaken, where I have carefully
inquired into the kitchen arrangements and food supplies. The latter
barrack-like edifices have of late years become intolerable owing to
the mechanical supply to them (by a group of monopolist financiers who
have acquired the contract) of the nastiest ice-stored fish, meat, and
vegetables. These are heated in their kitchens with bottled sauces in
patent ovens by underpaid scullery-helps, without the superintendence
of a qualified "cook." The result is a sham--pretentious and
inedible--which yields a fine profit to the hotel companies, and is
erroneously believed by the travelling crowds of to-day to be French
cookery! In reality it is a new device for bringing the "catering" in
all hotels in the great holiday centres under a monopolist control. The
scheme is similar to that to which the continental railway companies
have yielded in leasing to a well-known company the restaurant and
sleeping arrangements on their trains, with the result of causing much
misery to travellers and profit to themselves and to the monopolists.

Owing to differences in exposure and soil, the meadowland above
Argentière showed a fascinating variety of colour. Here was an acre
of the large-flowered purple geranium, interspersed with the big
Alpine yellow rattle (a greedy root-parasite); there (near some pine
trees) a mass of the yellow anemone (Anemone sulfurea); farther on a
whole meadow, blue with the abundance of large hairbells and viper's
bugloss. Close by, in the damper parts of the valley descending from
the Col des Montets, three or four acres of meadowland were white, so
thickly were they covered with tall plants of the distinguished-looking
white buttercup (Ranunculus aconitifolius). In some parts, among
these dignified Ranunculi, the plump yellow heads of the globe-flower
(Trollius), also a kind of buttercup, were abundant. Overshadowed
by these larger plants, or growing up between them, were orchids,
plantains, polygonums, and many others. The most beautiful plant in
these meadows was St. Bruno's lily, which we found in abundance on a
steep bank. It is named after the founder of the Carthusian order,
whose monastery (the Grande Chartreuse), first established when William
the Conqueror ruled England, I had visited a week before. St. Bruno's
lily has large, white, funnel-shaped flowers, an inch or more long,
three or four on a stalk. It is known to botanists by the pretty
name "Paradisia liliastrum." It is the lily of the Alps, pure and
unspotted, with a delicious perfume, and six golden stamens guarded by
its beautiful and large white corolla. In the woods we found some of
the larger orchids, and also whole banks covered with the waxy-looking
flowers, variegated in colour, white, yellow, and red, of the large
millwort, the Polygala chamæbuxus--a plant very unlike in appearance to
the little blue and white milkworts of England. It flowers in winter
as well as through the early summer. Another wonderfully waxy-looking
flower which we found is that of the shrub known as the Alpine Daphne.
There is something suggestive of exotic rarity and perfume about a
waxy-looking flower. Of the same character are the flowers of the
little shrubs of the genus Vaccinium known as the bilberry, the
wortleberry, the cow-berry, and the bear-berry, which occur on the open
scrubland. The rusty-leaved Rhododendron, with its crimson flowers, and
the little Azalea (like the Vaccinia--all members of the Heath family)
were abundant--as well as the true dark-red rose of the Alps, the
richly-scented Rosa alpina.

We left Argentière and the constant companionship of the great
glaciers of the vale of Chamonix, and descended by train through
the awe-inspiring valley of the Trient (up which we used to walk
many years ago, on our way to the higher regions) to Martigny, and
then drove for four hours up a rough mountain road to the hotel of
Pierre-à-voir--whence we descended a few days later in sledges, over
grass slopes and torrent beds, 4000 feet in an hour and a quarter, to
Saxon in the Rhone valley, a truly alarming experience. The "luge" or
sledge is supported in front by a strong mountaineer who prevents it
from "hurtling" down at breakneck speed, topsy-turvy. As the avoidance
of such a catastrophe depends on the strength and the sureness of foot
of this individual, travelling by "luges" is not to be recommended in
summer, however agreeable it may be when the mountain side is covered
with snow. In the woods near Pierre-à-voir we found another member
of the Heath family, looking like a lily rather than a heath, the
sweet-scented winter-green with its large single white flower (Pirola
uniflora), and on the rocks on open ground masses of the pink flowers
of the little rock soap-wort (Saponaria ocymoides). The curious tall,
big-leaved composite with only three purple florets to a head, the
Adenostyles albifrons, was here much in evidence. We were too early
for the flowers of the pretty little creeping plant allied to the
honeysuckle which the great Linnæus asked his friend Gronovius to name
after him, the Linnæa borealis, though we had been told that it grows
in this neighbourhood.

Then we spent five days at Glion and on the incomparable Lake of
Geneva, never wearied of gazing at the changing mysterious lights and
colours (sapphire, emerald, and silver) of its vast and restful expanse.

The question often is asked, "Why is it that the same species of flower
is brighter and stronger in colour when growing high up in the Alps
than when growing in the lowlands and in our own country?" The fact
is admitted; the blues of the blue-bells (Campanula), the bugloss,
the forget-me-nots, the crimsons and purples of the geraniums and the
pinks and the campions, and many others, are examples. Careful study
and consideration of the facts have enabled botanists to show, in many
instances, within recent years, that the peculiarities of form and also
of colour of the stems, leaves, and flowers of plants are not mere
unmeaning "accidents," but are definitely of advantage and of "survival
value" to the species. Thus we have seen that the tuft-like cushions
formed by high Alpine plants are explained. The purple and reddish
colour of stalks and leaves like that of the red variety of the common
beech has not always, as in that plant, the purpose of protecting the
chlorophyll from destruction by too vivid sunlight. In Alpine plants it
is often present on the underside of leaves and of the petals, and acts
to the plant's benefit, absorbing light and converting it into heat.
But it also seems in many cases to protect the juices of the plant from
the destructive action of white light.

It is held by some botanists that the bright colour of Alpine (and
Norwegian) samples of a flower elsewhere of a paler colour is due
to the direct action of the greater sunlight of the high regions in
causing the formation of pigment. This is inadmissible. The sunlight
cannot act in that way. It causes increased formation of nutriment by
acting on the chlorophyll, and an Alpine plant thus highly charged with
nutritive matters can afford to form more abundant pigment than a plant
which enjoys less brilliant sunshine. The high-coloured Alpine flowers
are a breed or race; a pale-coloured plant taken to the Alps from
below does not itself become high coloured. It is a matter of natural
selection. The occasional high-coloured "spontaneous" variations
produced from seed have an advantage in the short summer of the high
Alps. They attract the visits of the few insects in the short season
more surely than do the paler individuals, and consequently they are
fertilized and reproduce, whilst the race of the paler individuals dies
out from failure to attract the insects. Thus we get a high-coloured
race established in the mountains, a race that can make haste and seize
the brief opportunities of the short but brilliant summer. There are
many peculiarities of form and colour of plants the life conditions of
which are diverse (e.g., woodland, moorland, aquatic, seashore, dry
air, moist air, etc.), which can be shown by accurate observation to
be specially related to those life conditions. Those conditions allow
the peculiarities to survive and establish a race, in some cases a
species, whilst preventing the maturity or destroying the life of those
individuals not presenting that advantageous peculiarity of variation.

CHAPTER XIX

SCIENCE AND DANCING

THERE is at the present day in this country a real and most happy
revival of interest in the great art of dancing as exhibited on the
stage. We owe this to the creative ability of the musical composers
and directors of the Russian Imperial Ballet, as well as to the
highly-trained and gifted Russian artists who have visited this
country, and especially to the poetical genius of Madame Anna Pavlova.
Though dancing may seem, on first thought, a subject remote from
science, yet, like all other human developments, it is a matter for
scientific investigation, and one upon which science can throw much
light. What is the origin and essential nature of "dancing"? Do animals
dance? What is its early history in mankind? What is its relation not
merely historically, but from the point of view of psychology--the
study of the mind--to other arts? What is its real "value" and possible
achievement?

To dance is to trip with measured steps, and, whilst primarily
referring to human movement, the word is secondarily applied to
rapid rhythmic movements even of inanimate objects. Rhythm is what
distinguishes dancing from ordinary movement of progression or from
simple gesture or mere antics. Dancing on the part of man or animal
implies a sense of rhythm. Though not common amongst animals, it is
exhibited by many birds, by spiders, and by some crustaceans! Rhythm is
an essential feature of the sequence of sounds which we call "music."
The singing of birds is related to their perception of and pleasure
in rhythm, and it is not, therefore, surprising that they should also
dance. It is, however, curious that the birds which "dance" are not
the "singing birds," and that there are many birds which neither sing
nor dance. The dancing of birds is usually part of the "display" of
the males for the purpose of attracting the females at the breeding
season. It is well known in some African cranes, as well as in rails
and other similar birds, and may be witnessed at the Zoological Gardens
in London. Other birds "strut" rather than dance, whilst displaying
their plumage, as, for instance, the turkey and pheasant tribe and
the bustards. Parrots and cockatoos will often make a rhythmical
up-and-down movement of the neck in time to music, but usually the
"dance" is the accompaniment of definite emotion. The male spider of
some species courts the female by making dancing movements and posing
itself in a very curious way, so as to display a spot of bright colour
on the head to her observation. The same kind of movement and action
has been observed in marine shrimp-like creatures. Some spiders are
excited and made to dance by the vibrating note of a tuning-fork set
going near them. I once had the chance to observe a male octopus in
the aquarium at Naples, who was displaying himself to the female,
changing colour rapidly from one shade to another, and rolling his
long sucker-bearing arms in the form of spirals. Probably one should
not consider this as a "dance," since no rhythmic interruption or
succession of movements was observable.

It is established that in mankind, as well as many animals, when in a
state of emotion, movement and gesture, as well as the vocal utterance,
take on a rhythmic character, that is to say, become a dance and a
song. The emotion is not necessarily that of amorous passion; in
mankind it is frequently of a warlike or religious character, and is
worked up by the sympathy, imitativeness, and desire for unison in
expression which is common in troops or large gatherings of animals of
social habits. Man presents a more advanced development in variety,
sensitiveness, and abandonment to social or combined action and
expression than do other animals, and this is equally true of the more
civilized and of the more barbarous races. Apparently in obedience to
the same tendencies as those which convert simple forms of movement
into a rhythmic dance, the speech of man, under conditions of emotion,
assumes a rhythmic form, so that dancing bears the same relation to
the ordinary movements of locomotion and gesture which verse does to
ordinary speech, or, again, which song bears to mere exclamations
and cries, indicative of feeling. Dancing is the universal and most
primitive expression of that sense of rhythm which is a widely
distributed attribute of the nervous system in animals generally. In
primitive men it is a simple but often very violent demonstration of
strong emotion, such as social joy, religious exaltation, martial
ardour, or amatory passion. The voice and the facial muscles, as
well as those of the limbs and body, are affected, and the dancers
derive an intense pleasure from the excitement, which so far from
exhausting them leads them on to more and more violent rhythmic or
undulatory action. In its purest form this ecstatic condition is seen
in the spinning dervishes. It was developed into the mad and dangerous
festivals of the worshippers of Bacchus and other deities in ancient
Greece. It has been seen in mediaeval Europe as the dancing mania and
tarantism. The liability to this and similar forms of "mania" lurks
beneath the surface among populations which are nevertheless staid
and phlegmatic in their usual behaviour. The Romans in ancient times
recognized its unhealthy character, and though fond of ceremonial
dances and theatrical shows, and even of the performances of dancing
girls from Greece and the East, disapproved of dancing on the part of
a Roman citizen. Cicero says, "As a rule no one, who is not drunk,
dances--unless he is, temporarily, out of his mind."

Although the mad performances of bacchanalians and dervishes are
recognized as unhealthy, civilized peoples in Europe since the
fifteenth century have developed and practised dancing as an art
in two directions--first, as a popular amusement in which definite
combinations of graceful movements are performed for the sake of the
pleasure which the exercise affords to the dancer and to the spectator,
and secondly, as carefully trained movements which are meant by the
dancer vividly to represent the actions and passions of other people,
and are exhibited by specially skilled performers on a stage. The first
kind is what we call "country dances," "popular dances," also "Court
and ball-room dances," and has been commended by the philosopher Locke
and other writers as a valuable training for both mind and body, and by
physicians as a health-giving exercise. The second is "the ballet."

In the dances of savages and primitive peoples, some kind of music is
always found associated with dancing, the one helping and developing
the other; they are descendants of one parentage. Very commonly, too,
some kind of "acting"--the representation of a hunt, a fight, or a love
adventure--is an important feature of such dancing. Modern popular and
Court dances are intimately connected with and dependent on special
music, the rhythm and variation of time and strength in which is, as it
were, illustrated by the dancing, and serves to guide it and to keep
the dancers in unison. The signification behind all such modern dancing
is courtship--the addresses of the man to the woman, and her elusive
reception or rejection of them. In the Cathedral of Seville, however,
you may still see, at the festival of the Corpus Christi, a religious
dance, a dance of worship and adoration, performed by acolytes in front
of the high altar. In the early days of the Church such ritual dancing,
by both old and young, was a regular thing, as it was in the still
earlier religious ceremonies of the ancient Romans and in the time of
King David.

The development of dancing as a fine art has only been rendered
possible by the establishment, under the patronage of various European
princes, of great exhibitions of dancing, called "ballets," and the
creation of a profession of dancers, who, like professional actors
and musicians, devote their lives to the study of their art and the
training necessary for efficiency in its practice. In this, its highest
development, dancing, whilst maintaining its dominance, is entirely
dependent on the aid of music, and becomes blended with the art of
the actor and pantomimist. As in "opera" the effect of the musical
art is enhanced by the meaning of the words sung, by the acting of
the performers, and by the accessories of scenery and costume, so in
the ballet do all these factors, except the human voice, contribute
to the artistic result. The latest development of the ballet is, in
fact, "grand opera," without a voice, without words. Gesture, facial
expression, and movement of the limbs, marvellous for its grace and
directness of appeal, take the place of words. In fact, dance, the
appeal to the eye, takes the place of verse, the appeal to the ear. And
it is a fact, unexpected and astonishing to those new to it, that the
same quality of "poetic imagination" which distinguishes "word-poems"
from mere doggerel or commonplace verse, can also inspire the great
dancer and give to a wordless dance the unmistakable value of poetical
art, distinguishing it from purely acrobatic or barbaric capering. It
is a fact that poetic imagination may be conveyed in one kind of art
as in another, and that dancing, though greatly limited in its range
of detailed expression, yet is closely similar in its forms to music,
verse, and to glyptic and pictorial art, of all of which it is the
parent and forerunner. Its primitive character is no less remarkable
than the readiness with which it exerts its charm and develops new
importance at the present day.

Regarded as a fine art, and not merely as a pastime, dancing has
frequently great beauty in its simple quality of the rhythmic movement
of decorative form and colour. The dances depicted on Greek vases had
this character, and so, with varying degree of merit, have the ballets
common during the last fifty years in London and other great centres.
But before this period the makers of ballets (a word originally
signifying to dance, to sing, to rejoice, and representing three modern
words--ballet, ball, and ballad) did not aim at a mere exhibition of
living rhythmic decoration, but at the production of a theatrical
performance in which a story is told only by gesture and dancing
accompanied by music. The real modern founder and exponent of the
ballet as thus understood was Noverre, a Frenchman (called by Garrick
"the Shakespeare of the dance"), who died in 1810. He brought to a
high degree of perfection the art of presenting a story by pantomime,
and he never allowed dancing which was not the direct expression of a
particular attitude of mind. His professed effort was to introduce the
steps and poses of ancient Greek dancing shown in sculpture and painted
pottery--as _the_ model for stage dancing. And he succeeded. The great
dancers of the past who are known to us by tradition--Vestris, Camargo
in the eighteenth, and Cerito, Grisi, and Taglioni in the earlier
half of the nineteenth century--were not merely perfectly trained as
dancers, but were actors, and possessed poetic imagination. Women did
not appear in the ballet until the time of Louis XIV, and Mlle. Camargo
was the first to wear the conventional short stiff ballet skirt.

"Convention" has a great weight in such matters. But it seems to be
undeniable that the conventional ballet-skirt conceals the beautiful
movement of the leg on the hip joint, a disadvantage from which
the male dancer does not suffer. Skirts are, in fact, out of place
in really fine dancing. Flowing light drapery, or better still the
Circassian jacket and full gauzy trousers fastened at the ankles, are
the only possible dress for a really great _danseuse_.

The dramatic ballet or _ballet d'action_ lasted until the end of the
fifties in London, and then ceased almost suddenly to occupy the
leading position which it once held at the Opera House. In London, as
in Paris and Vienna, it was transformed into a mere spectacular display
of costume and meaningless rhythmic drill. The dramatic ballet ceased
to exist. The great tradition of fine stage-dancing and ballet-drama
was, however, preserved in Russia. It is not easy to explain, but the
fact is that two peoples so far apart as the Russians and the Spaniards
are more devoted to dancing than any other European nationalities.
Successive Tsars have spent large sums in maintaining colleges in St.
Petersburg and in Moscow, where boys and girls are lodged and carefully
educated whilst they are trained from the age of ten years in the art
of stage-dancing. The greatest musical composers have been encouraged
to write "ballets," and the ablest designers and "producers" have been
secured by large salaries. Something like £80,000 a year is spent by
the Tsar on the maintenance and development of this beautiful art,
which is dead elsewhere, but seems to fit the genius of the Russian
people. A new respect for Russia, a profound admiration for the Russian
artists, has been the result of the revelation of the Russian ballet by
the recent visits of its members to this country.

During the last thirty years of its period of nurture and development
in Russia the ballet has developed in two directions. Neither of these
are popular and successful in Russia, where the old traditional and
established ballet of the early nineteenth century--what may be called
"academic" dancing--is alone in demand. What we call "the Russian
ballet" is dramatic in nature, and includes such wonderful combinations
of music, scenery, costume, and perfect artistic expression by dancing
and gesture as we have seen in Scheherazade, Cleopatra, Prince Igorre,
Tamar, and Petrouschka. It promises in its latest development to
supplant the musical drama known as "opera," in which the human voice
is used. But the most striking development is that in which dancing
appears as the exponent of lyrical poetry. It is to the teaching of
Isadora Duncan that the Russian dancers admit their indebtedness for
this new departure. When undertaken by untrained dancers and amateurs
(even by the innovator herself) the attempt to interpret lyrical
subjects showed some ingenuity in conception, but failed to command
general appreciation, as the efforts of a painter or an actor, who has
not acquired command of the material of his art, also fail. But when
Anna Pavlova brought her lifelong training as a dancer and her poetic
imagination to the interpretation of masterpieces of music inspired by
such subjects as "Night," "The Dying Rose," "The Wounded Swan," and
the moonlight mystery of "Les Sylphides," a new and most poignant form
of emotional expression became apparent. A single figure moving over
the stage with expressive steps and gestures of the arms, with lips
and eyes guided and controlled by consummate art, blended itself with
and interpreted to the spectator the poetic thought of a great musical
composer and a great writer. This new development of the dancer's art
may remain with us. But it requires the presence of one who combines
the rare gifts possessed by Madame Pavlova--perfect technique and
poetic sympathy.

Many people derive a definite part of the pleasure given to them by
an orchestral concert from the contemplation of the movements of the
instrumentalists and the directive interpreting gestures of a great
"conductor." Others would prefer the orchestra and its leader to be
unseen; they find special delight in hearing great music surge and
float from no visible source through the dimly-lit aisles of a vast
cathedral. They do not desire their eyes to be called in aid of music
unless the appeal to vision is complete and worthy of the theme. It
is, I think, undeniable that Dr. Richter and my friend Sir Henry Wood,
whose expressive backs and persuasive hands are so dear to concert
audiences, are a kind of dwindled ballet dancers, connected by the
drum-major of the military band and the dancing "choragus" with the
primeval phase of the arts when music and dancing were inseparable.

CHAPTER XX

COURTSHIP

IT is always amusing to find the lower animals behaving in various
circumstances of life very much as we do ourselves. There is a tendency
to look upon such conduct on the animals' part as a more or less clever
mimicry of humanity--a sort of burlesque of our own behaviour. Really,
however, it has a far greater interest; it is a revelation to us of
the nature and origin in our animal ancestry of various deeply-rooted
"behaviours" which are common to us and animals. The wooing of a maid
by a man and the various strange antics and poses to which love-sick
men and women are addicted, are represented by similar behaviour among
animals, and that, too, not only among higher animals allied to man,
but even among minute and obscure insects and molluscs. In fact, the
elementary principle of "courtship" or "wooing," namely, the pursuit
of the female by the male, is observed among the lowest unicellular
organisms--the Protozoa and the Protophyta--and it holds among plants
as well as among animals, for it is the pollen--the male fertilizing
material--which travels, carried by wind or by the nectar-bribed
"parcels-delivery company" of bees, to the ovules of a distant flower,
and not the ovules (the female products) which desert their homes in
quest of pollen.

The "reproduction," or producing of new individuals, of many animals
and plants can be, and is, effected by the detachment of large pieces
of a parent organism. Thus plants split into two or more pieces, each
of which carries on life as a new individual. Many worms and polyps
multiply by breaking into two or more pieces, and very often the
broken-off pieces which thus become new individuals and carry on the
race are extremely small, even microscopic in size. The spores of
ferns and the minute separable buds of many plants and animals are of
this nature. They grow into new individuals without any fusion with
fertilizing particles from another individual. Yet there seems to be
even in the very simplest living things a need to be met, an advantage
to be gained, in the fusion of the substance of two distinct parents
in order to carry on the race with the best chance of success. We find
that those organisms which can multiply by buds and fission yet also
multiply regularly by ovules fertilized by sperms. We see this process
in its simplest condition in microscopic plants and animals which are
so minute that they consist of only a single "cell"--a single nucleated
particle of protoplasm. Such unicellular organisms have definite
shape, even limb-like locomotor organs, shells, contractile heart-like
cavities within the protoplasm, even mouths, digestive tract, and a
vent. They produce new individuals by merely dividing into two equal
halves or by more rapidly dividing into several individuals each like
the parent, only smaller. But from time to time, at recurring periods
or seasons, two of these unicellular individuals (of course, two of
the same kind or species) come into contact with one another, not by
mere chance, but attracted and impelled (probably by chemical guiding
or alluring substances of the nature of perfumes) towards one another,
and then fuse into one. Two (or sometimes several) individuals thus
melt together and become one individual--a process the exact reverse
of the division of one into two. This is known to microscopists as
"conjugation." The new individual resulting from conjugation after
a time divides, and the individuals thus produced, each consisting
of a mixture of the fused and thoroughly mixed substance of the two
conjugated individuals, feed and grow and divide in their turn, and so
on for several generations, until again the epidemic of conjugation
sets in, and the scattered offspring of many distinct pairs of the
previous conjugation-season in their turn conjugate.

It is clear that the tendency of this process is to prevent the
continued multiplication of one stock or line of descent in a pure
state. By conjugation different lines of descent--the progeny of
different individuals, often brought together from widely separate
localities--are blended and fused. And this is, we are led to conclude,
a matter of immense importance. To effect this mixture of separate
stocks is, as Darwin has shown, a prime purpose of the habits and
structures implanted in the very substance of living things, and
developed and accentuated in endless ways and with extraordinary
elaboration of mechanisms and procedure during the immense lapse of
ages during which life has unfolded and developed on this earth. The
fusion of different strains by conjugation gives increased variation
in the offspring or new generations: for the two parental strains
differ more or less, as all living individuals do, from one another.
The result of their fusion is different from either parent. In fact,
the process of fusion itself causes a disturbance--a readjustment of
the living matter--so that completely new variations result and are
selected or rejected in the struggle for existence. Either parental
strain was perhaps not so suitable to a newly developed change in the
surrounding conditions of life as the new blend may be. Thus a more
certain and active production of possibly useful variations is provided
for than would be the case were the variations of one self-multiplying
stock alone presented for selection.

In the case of simple conjugation the cell individuals which fuse or
"mate" with one another, and may be called "maters" or "mating cells,"
are in all respects similar to one another. But we find among the
unicellular plants and animals cases in which one of the mating cells,
instead of fusing with another straight away, divides into a number
of much smaller cells, which are very active in locomotion and are
specially produced in order to mate or fuse with the larger cells. The
mating cells are called "gametes," and the large motionless mating
cells are called "macro-gametes," or "large maters," whilst the small
motile mating cells are called "micro-gametes," or small "maters."
The former are of the same nature as egg cells or ovules, the female
reproductive particles, whilst the latter, the small "maters," are
identical in nature with the sperms or spermatozoa or male reproductive
particles of higher organisms. In the case of certain parasitic
unicellular animals called coccidia, and also in the parasite which
causes malarial fever, quantities of small "mating cells" are produced
which fuse with or "fertilize" other much larger mating cells. The
small "maters" of coccidia have long vibrating tails and minute oblong
bodies, and agree closely in appearance and active locomotion with the
spermatozoa of higher animals and plants. The large spherical mating
cells might be mistaken for the egg cells of larger animals. In the
globe animalcule, Volvox globator, we find a transitional condition
leading us to the production of small (male) and large (female)
mating cells, like those regularly produced by the massive plants and
animals which are built up by hundreds of thousands of "cells" or
protoplasmic units conjoined and performing different services for the
common life. Volvox is one of those simple aquatic organisms which is
not a single cell but a group of many cells (some hundred) hanging
together--in this case so as to form a hollow sphere. All the cells of
an individual sphere are alike, and have originated by division from
one first cell. When the "breeding season" arrives one or two cells of
the sphere increase in bulk--they become "large mating cells"--in fact,
egg cells. At the same time one or two divide (without separating), so
as to form packets of minute oblong cells with vibrating tails. These
are "small maters," or "spermatozoa." When ripe they separate and swim
away to fertilize--that is to say, to fuse with--the large "mating
cells" or egg cells of other Volvox spheres. Such a Volvox sphere as I
have described is "bi-sexual": it produces both large and small mating
cells, both male and female reproductive cells. But sometimes we find
that a number of Volvox spheres produce only large mating cells by
the swelling up of one or two of their constituent cells. They are,
in fact, female Volvox spheres. And other Volvox spheres produce only
packets of small mating cells by the splitting and change of one or two
of their constituent cells. They are male Volvox spheres.

When we now look at the higher plants and animals formed of
aggregations of innumerable cells (all derived from the division of
a first cell--an embryo cell or fertilized egg cell) we find that
amongst the mass of variously shaped cells forming the "tissues" of
these higher organisms some are set apart even in early growth as
"mating cells" (gametes or reproductive cells). Usually they are in
two groups--namely, the ovary, which includes the large mating cells
or egg cells or ova; and the spermary, which includes the cells which
break up into small mating cells or sperms. In many animals both ovary
and spermary are present in the same individual, but in most of the
larger animals (insects, crustaceans, and vertebrates) either the ovary
is suppressed, when the creature is called a male, and produces only
small mating cells, or the spermary is suppressed, and the creature
is a female, producing only egg cells. In both cases there may be a
distinct but minute representative of the suppressed organ present and
recognizable by its microscopic structure.

The point in this history, which seems to be important and must not be
lost sight of, is that the small mating cell is in all the stages cited
actively mobile and swims rapidly through water when its producer is an
aquatic animal. The large mating cell is quiescent. It is more or less
swollen with granular nutrient particles--often vastly so enlarged.
It already is acting the maternal part, preparing nourishment for the
growing embryo which will develop from its protoplasm when fused with
that of the relatively tiny but active male mating cell. And it is
certainly very noteworthy that when these two kinds of mating cells
become separated in distinct "carriers" (that is to say, produced one
without the other in what are called male and female individuals), the
primitive character of the mating cells--whichever of the two kinds
they be--impresses itself on the complex elaborate many-celled organism
in which they arise. The male is the more active, the more disposed to
travel. It is always the male who seeks, courts, woos, and attacks the
female, as the small mating cells seek and attack the larger mating
cells. The character and conduct of the female animal is largely (not
without deviations and additions) based on that of the larger mating
cell or macro-gamete; she is the one who waits, is sought, is courted,
and wooed. And like the egg cells of which she is the vehicle and
envelope, she is specially concerned in the provision of nutriment for
the early growth of the young.

Courtship, then, seems to have had its foundations very deeply laid,
even in the earliest and simplest forms of life--at the time when the
principle of the union of the substance of two strains to produce a new
generation was established, and when, further, the active, seeking male
cell was differentiated from the immobile nourishing female cell.

Amongst the polyps, sea-anemones, and jelly-fish, though we frequently
find that there are distinct males and females, there is no courtship.
This is connected with the fact that, like plants, they are (excepting
the jelly-fish) fixed and immobile. The male cannot "court" the female,
because neither of them can approach the other. I once saw in the
aquarium at Naples a sudden and simultaneous discharge of a white
cloud, like dust, into the water from half the magnificent sea-anemones
fixed and immobile in three large tanks. The cloud consisted of
millions of the small "mating cells," and were thrown off by the males.
They were carried far and wide by the stream running through the tanks.
In the sea such a discharge would be carried along by currents, and
might fertilize egg-bearing sea-anemones of the same species growing a
mile or two away.

It is when we have to do with actively moving animals that "courtship"
comes into existence. It has many features and phases, which comprise
simple discovery of the female and presentation of himself by the
courting male; attempts to secure the female's attention, and to
fascinate and more or less hypnotize her, by display of brilliant
colours or unusual and astonishing poses or movements (such as dancing)
on the part of the male; efforts of the male to attach the female to
himself, and deadly, often fatal, combats with other males, in order
to drive them off and secure a recognized and respected solitude for
himself and his mate. The courtship of many insects, crustaceans,
molluscs, fishes, reptiles, birds, and mammals has been watched and
recorded in regard to these details. Naturally enough, it is in the
higher forms, the birds and the mammals, that there are the most
elaborate and intelligible proceedings in regard to the attraction
of the female. But when we compare what birds or, in fact, any
animal, does with what man does, we must remember that man has, as
compared with them, an immense memory, and has also consciousness. All
other animals are to a very large extent mere automata, pleasurably
conscious, perhaps (in the higher forms), of the passing moment and of
the actions which they are instinctively performing, but without any
understanding or thought on the subject. They cannot think because,
though some of them are endowed to a limited extent with memory,
they have not arrived at the human stage of mental development when
consciousness takes account of memory, a memory of enormously increased
variety and duration.

Man has more and more, as he has advanced in mental growth, rejected
the unreasoning instinctive classes of action, and substituted for them
action based on his own experience and conscious memory, action which
is the result of education--not the education of the school, but that
of life in all its variety. But in many things he is still entirely
guided by unreasoning mechanical instinct, and in others he is partly
impelled by the old inherited instinct, partly restrained and guided by
reason based on experience and memory. This makes the comparison of the
courting man with the courting animal doubly interesting. We ought to
distinguish what he is doing as a result of ancient inherited mechanism
from what he is doing as a result of conscious observation, memory, and
reasoning.

CHAPTER XXI

COURTSHIP IN ANIMALS AND MAN

THE German poet Schiller arrived long ago at the conclusion that the
machinery of the world is driven by hunger and by love. If we join with
hunger, which is the craving of the individual for nourishment, the
activities which aim at self-defence,--whether against competitors for
food, against would-be devourers, or against dangers to life and limb,
from storm, flood, and temperature,--we may accept Schiller's statement
as equivalent to this, namely, that the activities and the mechanisms
of living things are related to two great ends--the preservation of the
individual and the preservation of the race. "Love," or what we should
call in more discriminating language "amorousness," or the "mating
hunger," is the absolute and inherent attribute of living things upon
which the preservation of the race depends. The preservation of the
individual is of less importance in the scheme of Nature than the
preservation of the race, and we find that food-hunger and the risk of
dangers of all kinds to the continuance of an individual life are made
of no account when satisfaction of mate-hunger and the preservation
and perpetuation of the race requires the sacrifice or the shortening
of the life, or the permanent distortion or self-immolation of the
individual. Eccentric behaviour and strange exaggeration of form and
colour, as judged by the standard of preservation of the individual,
are found to be explained as due to structures (nervous or other)
implanted in the race by natural selection, because, and in consequence
of, the fact that they tend to the satisfaction of mate-hunger, and
consequently to the preservation of the race.

The fact that the male animal seeks out the female in order to mate
with her leads to a competition amongst males in "courtship," both
in man and in the higher and lower grades of the animal series.
"Courtship" comprises many procedures. Among them are the seizing and
sometimes carrying off of the female by the mate-seeking male; or else
the attraction of the attention of the female by the male, and her
subsequent fascination by him, followed by her responsive excitement
and assent to union. Fighting, often to the death, between rival
suitors not unfrequently occurs.

Any animal practising the first of these arts of courtship must have
developed greater strength and size than the female, and special
claws or jaws or prehensile limbs which will become emphasized and
increased in size by the success of the better-endowed males, and their
consequent "natural selection" as parents. This elementary and violent
form of courtship is found in primitive man, and is inferred to exist
amongst the higher apes. It is also seen in many mammals, and in frogs
and toads, and in some of the Crustacea and insects which are provided
with powerful claws, jaws, or limbs.

The second set of "courtship" activities mentioned above, which are of
a persuasive (often hypnotic) and non-violent nature, are more widely
distributed and varied. They include a number which come under the
general head of "display," whether the appeal be by sound (the voice),
by odour, or by strange antics and gorgeous colour. They involve the
production of the most remarkable special structures; and by their
appeal to the human sense of hearing, smell, and sight are in many
cases well known and familiar to us. Following upon "display" are what
may be classed as "caresses"--attempts to soothe and to subjugate the
female by the sense of touch.

The third kind of activity developed in "courtship" is that of
fighting--fighting to the death with other suitors. It involves the
production of all those natural weapons, horns, tusks, and special
claws or spurs with which male animals fight one another at the
breeding season. It also involves that perfection of muscular strength,
rapidity, and skill in action which have enabled one male to triumph
over others, and whilst destroying or banishing his less perfect
opponent to transmit his own superior qualities to his offspring.
It seems that to this incessantly recurring and relentless struggle
between males, in courtship for the favour of the female, more rapid
and important changes and developments of animal structure and
endowments are due than to the more obvious competition for food,
safety from enemies, and shelter. Thus muscular power, grasping and
aggressive weapons, wonderful colours, forms and patterns which catch
the eye, perfumes and powers of song and arresting cries, instinctive
antics and caresses, have been developed in the males and transmitted
to some extent to both sexes, but predominantly to the males.

Mr. Pycraft, in his book on this subject,[5] remarks that the
tremendous power of "mate-hunger" has been overlooked by a strange
confusion of cause and effect. Almost universally its sequel, the
production of offspring, has been regarded as the dominant instinct in
the higher animals, but this view has no foundation in fact. Desire,
for the sake of the pleasure which its gratification affords, and not
its consequences, is the only hold on life which any race possesses.
And this is true both in the case of man himself and of the beasts
that perish. Those whose business it is, for one reason or another, to
study these emotions, know well that "mate-hunger" may be as ravenous
as food-hunger, and that, with some exceptions, it is immensely more
insistent in the males than in the females. But for this appetite,
reproduction in many species could not take place, for the sexes
often live far apart, and mates are only to be won after desperate
conflict with powerful rivals no less inflamed. It is idle to speak
of an equality between the sexes in this matter, either in regard to
animals or in the human race. The male is dominated by the desire to
gratify the sexual appetite; in the female this is modified by the
stimulation of other instincts concerned with the care of offspring.
Amorousness is the underlying factor which has shaped and is sustaining
human society, and is no less powerful among the lower animals. Much
that is considered contrary to human nature, and either outrageous or
ridiculous, would be understood and wisely dealt with if knowledge of
nature, including man's nature, were cultivated, and took the place of
vain assertions as to "what should be," accompanied by ignorance of
"what is."

[5] "The Courtship of Animals," Hutchinson, 1913.

An excellent sample of the more violent method of "courtship by
seizure" is found in the proceedings of the northern fur-seal as
described by Mr. Pycraft. The old bulls, after spending the greater
part of the year in the open sea, arrive at the rocks which serve as
the breeding grounds a full month before the cows arrive. The younger
bulls attempt, but fail, to get a place on the rocks. The bull holding
the most advantageous place--the nearest to the landing-place--starts
the collecting of cows. Having seized the first arrival, he places
her by his side. As the later females arrive he proceeds in the same
way. He soon has "herded" more cows than he can control. He cannot
be in two places at once, and in scuttling off to chastise some
covetous neighbour who is eloping with one of his wives, one or more
bulls on the opposite side of his harem proceed to make captures from
his horde. This sort of thing goes on till all the cows have been
appropriated, according to the herding and holding capacities of the
bulls, leaving a crowd of envious bachelors in the background not
strong enough or courageous enough to fight. Each bull is master of
the situation, whether his harem consists of five cows or fifty. If a
cow is restless he growls at her. If she tries to escape he fiercely
bites her, and if she tries to outrun him he seizes her by the skin of
the neck and tosses her back, often torn and bleeding, into the family
circle. Sometimes a cow is killed by the struggle of two bulls to pull
her in opposite directions, and in this way the more querulous and
discontented cows are eliminated in each generation, and the peculiarly
gentle and passive nature characteristic of the cow seals has been
developed. For three long months the bull seal has to keep watch and
ward fasting. This is a most exceptional strain and effort, for in
other animals fasting is associated with absolute rest and sleep. The
bull fur-seal arrives at the breeding ground fat and in fine condition;
he leaves it, though triumphant, a starved and battered wreck.

The more agreeable arts of courtship are exhibited by birds in greatest
variety and in more familiar examples than in any other animals. The
use of odours secreted by special glands as attractions to the females
is frequent in the mammals--such as the musk-deer, the musk-rat,
the civet, and many common hoofed animals, such as deer, antelopes,
goats, and sheep--but has not been noticed in birds, though known in
butterflies and moths. It is in the use of the voice in singing and in
the special display of gorgeous plumage, grown, so to speak, for the
purpose at the breeding season, and in strutting, fantastic posturing,
and in dancing that the male bird excels. Not all birds do all these
things, and female birds do none of them as a rule.

I must break off for a moment here to warn the reader that whilst we
find it difficult not to speak of these activities of the male bird and
male animals generally in the same terms as we speak of such behaviours
in human beings, there is yet a fundamental difference between the
two cases which is apt to be lost sight of in consequence of the
language used. When the musk-deer and other mammals attract the female
by a scent, they have no consciousness or understanding of what they
are doing. They do not as a matter of thought and intention produce
their perfume any more than the birds produce their gay breeding
plumage by "taking thought," or the stag his great antlers or the
boar his tusks. Man is, on the contrary, in these matters, as in many
others, ill-provided with natural automatically-growing mechanisms of
life-saving or race-perpetuating importance. Though the behaviour of
man in courtship is singularly like that of many animals, he has not
inherited an automatically-produced bundle of charms to allure the
other sex. He has had to think the matter out and to consciously and
deliberately "make" or procure from external sources both perfumes
and coloured decorations and arresting (often absurd and astounding)
"costumes." The males of the most savage and primitive races of men are
like the bigger apes, devoid of natural "charms"; they do not allure by
sweet odours, by brilliant colours, nor by caressing musical voices.
They have not these possessions as natural growths of their own bodies,
and they have not yet learned--probably not yet desired--to "make" or
to "procure" them. There is consequently a great gulf in kind between
many of the details of animal and human courtship. We have no knowledge
of how the extinct creatures between ape and man stood in this respect.

In the matter of forcible seizure the conduct of the primitive man
is on precisely the same footing as that of the fur-seal. As to when
he began to learn from the birds and to do consciously what they do
unconsciously--no one knows. In regard to the fighting with other
males--man appears at a very early period to have given up the use of
his natural weapons, the teeth, and to have discovered the greater
utility of sharp stones and heavy clubs, and thus to have again
placed himself apart from male animals, which depend on and develop
automatically their tusks, horns, and claws in consequence of their
value in fighting. The great interest of the jaw of the man-like
Eoanthropus from Piltdown is that it was still fitted with a large
canine tooth like that of a gorilla, big enough to be useful in a fight
with another Piltdowner (see p. 287). But it dwindled, and in the
course of time very early man-like extinct creatures were developed who
had ceased to have big canines. They made use of chipped flints instead.

This substitution by man of "extraneous" weapons, decorations, and
alluring appeals to the senses in place of those "intrinsic" to the
animal body is all the more interesting, since we find that such
substitution is already made by a number of birds, as, for instance,
the magpie and the jackdaw, who collect all sorts of bright objects.
The allied bower-bird of Australia makes a "play-run" or reception-room
in which he places shells and bits of bone to attract the female, and
the gardener bird of New Guinea clears a space in the scrub, roughly
fences it and decorates it daily with bright-coloured flowers and
mushrooms, freshly gathered and placed there by him, as any human
bachelor may decorate his sitting-room for the delectation of his
lady friends! It is a very noteworthy fact that these birds, which
use extraneous decorative objects as lures, are themselves of dull
plumage, but are allied to the wonderful group of Birds of Paradise,
which show the greatest variety and brilliance of intrinsic decorative
plumage known among birds. The love of brilliant decoration is equally
keen in both groups, and is gratified in the one case by the use of
extrinsic objects, in the other by the growth of intrinsic plumage. It
appears that that strangely anthropoid bird--the penguin--or rather one
species of penguin, familiar to Captain Scott and his companions in
the Antarctic, has a similar habit of using an extraneous object as a
gift or, shall we say, an excuse for an introduction when courting. The
male penguin is shown in Mr. Poynting's wonderful cinema films of the
Antarctic, picking up a well-shaped stone of some size and advancing
with it in his beak to the lady penguin whom he has selected for his
addresses. He places the stone at her feet, and retires a pace or two
watching her. It is as though he said, "I am ready to build for you a
first-class nest; best stones only used, of which this is a sample."
If he is fortunate she looks at the stone and then at him, and without
a word waddles to his side. Without more ado she accepts his proposal,
and the work of constructing the stone-built nest is rapidly pushed on.

CHAPTER XXII

COURTSHIP AND DISPLAY

THE "displays" made by male birds and by some other animals which lead
to the "fascination" of the females, and apparently to a condition
similar to that which is called "hypnotic" in man, are very remarkable.
One is tempted to say that these "displays" are made "for the purpose"
of fascinating the female. But though that would be correct in
describing similar proceedings on the part of a human "gallant," it
is not strictly so in the case of animals, any more than it is true
that a bird grows its fine plumage "for the purpose" of attracting the
female. The male bird finds itself provided with fine feathers, and
has probably a brief conscious pleasure in the fact, just as it has
in singing, but it has, of course, no control over the growth of its
feathers, nor conscious purpose in their production. Similarly, it has
no knowledge or consciousness of a purpose in the antics of "display,"
nor in singing its melodious song, though certainly it is gratified,
and has pleasurable sensations in the instinctive performances which it
finds itself going through. The great French entomologist, Fabre, who
has more minutely and thoroughly studied the wonderful proceedings of
insects in regard to these matters and others, such as nest building,
care and provision for young, deliberately says, "Ils ne savent rien de
rien"--they know nothing about anything! And that is true with only
small exception about even the highest animals until we come to man.
Some of the higher animals have a brief and fleeting "consciousness"
of what they are doing, and some of the hairy quadrupeds nearest to
man have the power of "recollecting"; that is to say, have in a small
degree conscious memory, and actually do reason and make use of their
memory of their own individual experience to a very small and limited
degree.

It is only in man that the power of reasoning--the conscious use of
memory, of deciding on this or that course of action by a conscious
appeal to the record of the individual's experience inscribed in the
substance of the brain--becomes a regular and constant procedure. And
in the lowest races of man--as, for instance, the Australian "black
fellows"--this power is much less developed than in higher races, owing
to the feebleness of their memory. Just as a little child or an old
man recognizes the fact that his memory is bad, so does the Australian
native confess to the white man that he cannot remember, and marvels at
the memory of the white man, who, he says, can see both what is behind
and what is to come.

"Displays" are often made by birds which have no very brilliant
colours. The ruff--a bird of agreeable but sombre plumage--spreads out
a ruff of feathers which grows round his neck in the breeding season
and stands in a prominent position alone on the open ground with his
head facing downwards and his long beak nearly touching the ground.
These birds are to be seen behaving in this way at the Zoological
Gardens in London. When thus posed they have a comical appearance of
being absorbed in profound thought. Suddenly, after posing for perhaps
ten minutes or more immovably in this attitude, the ruff starts into
life, running in a wide circle and spreading his wings, and then as
suddenly relapses into his pose, with downcast eyes and beak touching
the ground. This, it appears, is all a challenge to any other ruff who
ventures near him, and often results in a fight with another individual
who is offended by his "swagger" and attacks him. It also is an
invitation and attraction to the female or "reeve" who is on the look
out for a mate.

The display of the bustard, though his feathers are only light brown
and white, is a very strange and arresting performance. In ordinary
circumstances his feathers are nicely smoothed down, and he looks
neat and fit. But at the breeding season he behaves like Malvolio
when he wore cross-garters to please his lady. He approaches two or
three females who are quietly feeding, and throwing his head back
and his chest forward, swelling his neck out with inspired air and
reflecting his tail feathers inside out (so to speak) over his back,
he makes the most extraordinary havoc of his previously neat costume.
The feathers are made to stand up and reflected backwards in groups,
and show their underlying white surfaces round the head, on the chest,
and on the wings and back, so that he suggests the appearance of a
portly old gentleman, in full evening dress, the worse for liquor,
his high collar unbuttoned and flapping, his short "front" bulging
and loose, whilst he maintains all the time a pompous and dignified
pose strangely inconsistent with his disordered costume and hesitating
gait. As he struts and poses the lady bustards, though intensely
interested in his strange behaviour, make no sign, and continue pecking
for food, as who should say with Beatrice, "I wonder that you will
still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you." After enduring
this snubbing on several occasions and doggedly continuing to display
his antics, the persistent bustard reaps his reward. One among the
dissembling females can no longer keep up the pretence of indifference,
and suddenly runs off, inviting him to follow her! The same general
scheme of play is seen in the case of the peacock, who spreads his
magnificent "train" around his head and neck (not to be confused with
his tail, as it often is); in the case of the turkey, bubblyjock, or
gobble-cock, who struts and shows off his coloured wattles and fine
feathers; in that of the domestic fowl, who raises his head and neck,
crows, and has a pretty trick of scraping the ground with his wing.
Many other birds perform special antics suited to the display of their
special plumage. Among the most varied and remarkable are those of the
Birds of Paradise, which drop through the air, hang upside down on
tree twigs, and pose themselves variously (often warbling the while
seductive notes) according to the particular beauties which distinguish
each species. Cranes and some other birds dance in groups at the
mating season--really dance, making steps and jumps with the legs and
movements of the wings--in rhythm.

Reptiles do only a little in the way of display. The male newt gets a
crest in the spring like the wanton lapwing of Tennyson, and a splendid
orange-red colour on the belly. Male fishes often develop "display"
colours at the breeding season, and it is a mistake to suppose that
their eyes and brains are not sensitive to colour. We have a familiar
instance in the male of our common little stickleback, who, in early
summer, builds, in his native pond, his nest of fragments of weed
cemented together, with a wide entrance and a back door. He then
becomes brilliant blood-red on the belly (he was white before) and dark
green on the back, and swims about near the nest, and has an occasional
fight with a competitive neighbour, whilst hustling and shepherding any
female stickleback he may meet so as to make her enter it. She enters
it alone, and lays an egg, or, perhaps, two or three, and then goes out
by the back-door! The male, well pleased, at once goes into the nest,
fertilizes the eggs, and swims out again to get another contribution
to his future family. After several females have thus deposited eggs
in his nest, and he has fertilized them, he keeps guard for many
days whilst the young are developing. Even when they are hatched
he is in constant attendance on them, for there is danger of their
being eaten--not by other males, who are as busy as he is, but by the
emancipated females, who neither build the nest nor care for the young,
but just lay an egg here and an egg there when invited, and pursue a
selfish life of amusement and voracious feeding.

It is still doubtful how far male insects of the true six-legged
group appeal to the females by colour-display, even when they are
brightly coloured, or in other ways than by perfumes (which they do
very generally), but among the spiders there are some kinds (not
common ones) in which the males have on the front of the body one
or two extraordinarily brilliant spots of colour (red, apple-green,
or yellow). The male moves round the female in courtship, and poses
himself in most curious attitudes, so as to exhibit the brilliant
colour to her; forcing it, as it were, on her attention. In other
species of spiders the male dances and circles round the female, making
curious and definite antics. Some spiders also have rasp-like organs,
with which they can make a kind of singing note, which appears to
fascinate the other sex. The vibration of a tuning-fork will cause some
spiders to dance! In most spiders the female is much larger than the
male--in some cases, ten times as large--and the approach of the male
to the female is a dangerous business for him, for usually after his
embrace she turns on him, kills him, and eats him. This is almost a
unique case amongst animals (though ancient legends tell of princesses
of similar ferocity), and curiously enough is not invariable among all
species of spider. In some the males and females are quite friendly.
The ogre-like habit of female spiders is not so injurious a thing as it
may appear. For the most nourishing food is thus afforded to the female
who has to ripen her eggs, and take care of her young, whilst, if the
male escapes, it appears that he is short-lived and very soon dies.
This cannibal tendency is very strongly developed also in the allied
group, the scorpions. Two hundred scorpions were left in a cage in the
South of France, whilst the naturalist (Maupertuis) who had placed them
there was obliged to go to Paris. On his return he found one large,
very plump and active scorpion in the box, surrounded by legs and hard
bits of the bodies of the rest. The survivor was in the position of
Gilbert's ancient mariner, who said that he was "the cook and the mate,
and the captain's boy and the crew of the _Nancy Bell_." Scorpions do
not perform any courtship display. The males and females are of equal
size, and dance together, holding one another by their large claws,
before mating and retiring into a burrow.

Cuttle-fishes, squids, and the octopus--called Cephalopods--were
considered by Aristotle to be the spiders of the sea. It is curious
how they not only have a superficial resemblance of form to spiders,
but in some habits are like them, though the Cephalopods are molluscs
allied to snails and mussels, and are quite unlike spiders in
deeper structure and remote from the whole group of hard-skinned,
jointed-legged animals such as crustaceans, spiders, and insects. I
once had the chance to see a male octopus "displaying" to a female
in one of the tanks of the aquarium at Naples. There were a male
and a female already living there when we introduced from another
tank a second male, which had just destroyed and fed upon a large
lobster, who had himself, with no evil purpose, crushed the head of a
Mediterranean turtle foolishly placed by that animal between the open
fingers of the lobster's big nippers. The new arrival promptly drove
the earlier tenant octopus out of the tank. He pursued his rival round
and round with great rapidity until the latter leapt from the surface
of the water (by a violent contraction of the mantle) and escaped
into the adjacent tank. Then the triumphant intruder approached the
female--floods of changing colour, reddish-brown, purple, and yellow,
passing over the surface of his body--and commenced an extraordinary
display with his eight long sucker-bearing arms. He made these wind
into close-set flat spirals and again unwind and gracefully trail in
the water, when they immediately wound up again in spiral coils. The
female watched this proceeding for more than an hour, and then they
embraced. I could not follow any further details, but a few days after
this the female piled up a number of stones, so as to make a nest in
shape like a shallow basin. We enticed the male into a net and placed
him in another tank, so that he should not be able to molest the female
or to devour her offspring, which he would do if he had the chance.
Then the female laid her eggs--minute oval, transparent bodies, each
with a long stalk and all joined on to a common branching stem: the
whole resembled a head of millet seed. The female tended her eggs by
continually pumping a stream of water over them, and could not be
driven from them. She fought savagely and heroically in their defence.
But I succeeded in enticing her into a net by aid of a toothsome crab,
and then took a few--only a few--of the cherished eggs, and replaced
their mother in the tank, where she at once resumed the "incubation" of
her eggs. For it is an "incubation," although one in which oxygenated
water, and not warmth, is the accompaniment of the sitting of the
"hen." I was able to watch the development of the young within the
transparent eggs, which I kept in a stream of fresh sea-water, and I
published a short account of what was novel in the growth of these
embryos. It had not been studied previously, nor have I seen any later
account of the development of octopus. The true cuttle-fish, with the
hard oblong shell sunk in the back, lays each egg in a dark leathery
shell. They look like small grapes, and are left, thus protected, to
their fate. They have been studied, both before I obtained octopus eggs
and since, in great detail. The "squid" embeds her eggs, many together,
in bunches of long fingers of colourless jelly. Only the octopus and
the argonaut, among Cephalopods, are known to give maternal care and
incubation to their eggs.

CHAPTER XXIII

COURTSHIP, INSTINCT AND REASON

APART from the familiar instances of male colour-decoration afforded
by birds, we find that even some of the minute water-fleas inhabiting
freshwater lakes and the sea, and known as Crustacea Entomostraca, put
on a courting dress at the breeding season; that is to say, the males
become brilliantly coloured with patches of red and blue. And among
the highest mammals we find that the same colours are, in some cases,
displayed by the males as a fascination to the females. This is the
case with the males of some of the baboons, though not with those of
the highest man-like apes, who, like the primitive "savage" man, have
no decoration, no pretty seductive ways appealing to either the eye
or the ear, but rely on their strength and ferocity to overawe and
paralyze the female. In the male "mandrill" baboon the skin of the
sides of the great snout is of a deep blue colour, whilst the nose and
a tract behind it is wax-like and bright red. Not only that, but the
buttocks are brilliantly coloured, a central red area passing at the
sides through rich purple to pale blue. The animal, which is often
to be seen in menageries, is evidently proud of this finely-coloured
region of his body, and turns it to a visitor and remains quietly
posed, so that it may be well seen and duly admired. The hind-quarters
of other monkeys, both male and female, show a brilliant red colouring
during the mating season, and the skin and hair of the face is
variously coloured, so as to produce a decorative pattern (eyebrows,
moustache, beard, nose, all strongly contrasted in colour) in the
smaller monkeys, usually more strikingly in the males than in the
females. A brilliant emerald-green patch of colour is shown in the
hinder part of the body of the male in one species sometimes to be seen
at Regent's Park.

The making of sounds is a capacity possessed by many animals, small
and big. Often it seems to have no particular significance, but, as
in the case of the "humming" of bees and flies and the "droning" of
beetles, is the necessary accompaniment of the vibration of the wings.
But many animals make sounds as a "call," either to other individuals
of their species, irrespective of sex, or more definitely as signals
and appeals to the other sex, just as the luminosity which happens to
accompany certain necessary chemical activities in the bodies of the
lower animals has become specialized and utilized in the glow-worm
and other higher forms as a signal and appeal. The rubbing of rough
surfaces against one another is developed into a "stridulating organ"
which we find in crickets, locusts, scorpions, spiders, and even in
marine crustacea, and it is often specialized as a sexual appeal. The
mere production of sound by tapping against wood is used by the little
beetle, the death-watch, as a call, and is responded to by his mate
with similar tapping. Such "tapping" is developed into a remarkable
rhythmic vibrating sound by the birds called woodpeckers, and has its
significance in courtship. But it is chiefly by the inspiration and
expiration of air over vibrating cords or membranes called "vocal
organs" that animals produce distinctive and musical sounds. In most
cases such animals have a more general and simple "cry," which is not
necessarily a sexual appeal, but addressed to comrades generally, and
also a more elaborate cry or song which is primarily used by the male
as an attraction in courtship, but has in the case of many birds been
inherited from original male singers by the females also. The "singing"
of birds--apart from simpler cries and calls--is a sexual address, an
act of courtship. It is a display of power and capacity on the part of
the male, and that such is its character is shown by the competition
between male birds in the endeavour to "out-sing" one another. Some
birds become extraordinarily excited in these competitions, which take
the place of actual fighting, the victor who silences his opponents
being the winner of the female bird, who is at hand listening to the
competition. Caged chaffinches are celebrated for their eagerness to
compete with one another in singing. They deliver their little song
alternately until one is exhausted and unable to take up his turn. He
is vanquished. So excited do the birds become that it occasionally
happens that one of the competitors drops down dead. The beginning and
directive causes of the particular song of different kinds of birds
is not understood. But it is well known that they have a great gift
of imitation. Parrots, piping crows, ravens, and other such birds are
familiar instances, whilst little birds such as bullfinches can be
trained to whistle the melodies which human beings have invented. Even
the house-sparrow, which, though allied to singing finches, never sings
at all when in natural conditions, has been converted into a songster
by bringing it up in company with piping bullfinches.

Other animals which cannot sing like the birds yet use their voices in
courtship. The frogs and toads are no mean performers in this way,
whilst cats, deer, and other large animals are "singers," of a kind,
when stirred by mate-hunger. The monkeys chatter and make various
vocal sounds, but the gibbons and man-like apes produce excessively
loud and penetrating cries. These cries, though sometimes of fine note
and repeated rhythmically (as in the gibbons and chimpanzees), have
not the character of song. The beginnings of song in mankind are lost
in the mist of ages. The Australian black-fellows chant and dance
with rhythmic precision and a certain kind of melancholy cadence, but
they never attempt to fascinate the other sex by the use of the voice
(nor, so far as is known, in any other way), and, indeed, there is a
vast interval between their vocal performances and the love-songs of
modern civilized races. Man has not inherited singing from his animal
ancestry, but has re-invented it for himself. His real knowledge
and command of "music" is actually a novelty which has sprung into
existence within the last few hundred years.

There is no doubt that animals of the same species are attracted to
one another by smell, and that distinct species have distinct smells.
Further, there is no doubt that in many cases the special smell of
either sex attracts the other. But modern man has so nearly lost
the sense of smell--why it is difficult to say, excepting that it
is because it was not of life-saving value to him--that it is very
difficult for us to estimate properly the significance of perfumes and
odours. We know that the dog has what to us seems a marvellous power
of tracking and recognizing by smell, and that other animals appear
to be similarly endowed, though most usually we cannot perceive the
smell at all which they recognize and follow. It appears that nearly
all the hairy quadrupeds have distinctive odours, which they and their
companions can readily recognize, secreted by certain glands in the
skin placed here and there on the body, often on the legs and toes.
Some of these odours, like musk and civet, we can perceive, though most
have no effect on us. It seems to be an evidence of the absence of any
need for man to produce "perfumes" by the action of his own structure
that he has a feeble sense of smell and has so little perception of
any perfumes or odours peculiar to himself that he has when civilized
always made use of odorous substances (perfumes and scents) extracted
from other animals and from plants for the purpose, before the days of
cleanliness, of masking the unpleasant odours of putrescence pervading
his body and clothing. Later, when dirt became less common, he made
use of perfumes for the purpose of giving an agreeable whiff to the
olfactory organs of his associates.

In insects, for instance in moths and butterflies, and no doubt in most
if not all others, the sense of smell is astonishingly keen, and serves
as the great guide and attraction in courtship and the appeasement of
mate-hunger. A single female emperor moth was placed in a box covered
with fine net in a room with an open window in a country house. In
three hours a dozen males of this species had entered the room, but
no other moths. In twenty-four hours there were over a hundred, all
fluttering around the net-covered box in which was the female. In this
and other similar experiments it was found that the odour of the female
moth, though imperceptible to man, clung to the box after she was
removed, and that, for some days following, the empty box was nearly as
powerful an attraction to the males as when it contained the female.
The antennæ which carry the olfactory sense-organs are far larger in
the males than in the females, as is also the case in many other
lower animals where smell is a guide to mating. A single female of the
vapourer moth, which is common in the London squares and parks, has
been found to attract when placed in a box in an open window in Gower
Street a number of males from the neighbouring plantations; and such
is the penetrating and powerful character of these odorous substances
produced by female moths that in one species, in which the female is
wingless and lives under water, the odour escapes through the water and
attracts the males in quantities to its surface. The females then arise
from the depths, and, like mermaids or the witch of the Rhine, draw
the infatuated males beneath the water to love and death. In several
butterflies it has been shown that the males produce sweet perfumes on
the surface of the wings, which can be detected as such by man, and
act as stimulants to the mate-hunger of the female butterflies, which
follow the scented male in numbers. The sense of smell is thus seen
to be a much more powerful guide in insects than might be supposed,
and it is of equally great importance to them in other enterprises and
activities of life besides those of courtship. It has also a leading
importance in all the lower and lowermost animals, and is the ultimate
guide (for smell and taste are not separable in such simple forms) of
the motile spermatic filament in its journey to the egg cell.

I have in the course of these notes on "Courtship" more than once
stated that though man shares in common with all other animals the
ultimate impulse to "courtship," namely, "mate-hunger," yet that it
would be a mistake to suppose that he has mechanically inherited
from animal ancestors (as they do) those methods of attracting
and endeavouring to fascinate the female, such as the use of gay
costume, dancing and posing, beautiful singing, sweet perfume, and
gentle caresses, which, at various phases of his development, he
has practised. True, these methods are also practised by a variety
of animals, but not by man's immediate ape-like ancestors. None of
these means of courtship are inherited instincts or structures in man
as they are in animals. All have been arrived at and devised by man
afresh, as the result of "taking thought." And in the latest advance
of civilization some of them have been to a large extent either
discarded or, curiously enough, handed over to the female sex. It is
the woman now who endeavours to captivate the man by a display of brave
colours, clothes, plumes, and jewellery, and by exquisite dancing and
gesture. Not so long ago both sexes of man practised such display, but
in earliest times only the male, the woman being allowed to sport a
discarded rag or a broken old necklace if she were very satisfactory
and submissive in her general conduct!

I must endeavour very briefly to explain how this contrast of
"instinct" with "thought, knowledge, reason, and will" must (as it
seems to me) be regarded. There are three great steps in the gradual
evolution of the mind. The first is the slow formation (by variation
and survival of the fittest) of transmissible, and therefore inherited,
mechanisms of the mind, which are of various degrees of complexity, and
characterize different species and kinds of animals. These mechanisms
act automatically like those of a "penny-in-the-slot machine," and are
just as regularly present, and as much alike in all individuals of a
species, as are the other inherited structures, such as bones, flesh,
viscera, the skin and its coloured clothing of decorative feathers or
hair.

Later, and added to these inherited mechanisms--often interfering with
them and putting an end to them--are the mechanisms of the second step.
These are mechanisms arising from individual experience; they depend on
memory--the inscription on "the tablets of the mind," of the experience
that this follows that. They control movement and action, usurping
the privilege of the previously omnipotent inherited mechanisms or
instincts. This second step in the development of mind requires an
excessive quantity of brain-cells. It only makes its appearance at all
in animals with large brains, and reaches a far greater development in
man even than in the apes, his brain being from twice to three times
the size of that of the largest living ape. This use of memory and
individual experience--instead of an inherited mechanism, which is the
same in every member of the species--is obviously a great advantage
in the struggle for existence. There are traces of it in some of the
cuttlefish and insects, but even in the fishes and reptiles among
living vertebrates it is of small account, and the small brain carries
on its work by good, sound, inherited mechanisms or instincts, but
learns nothing, comprehends nothing! In the birds we see a little--a
very little--more capacity for "learning by individual experience,"
and it is only in the larger and later mammals that educability, or
the power of learning by individual experience, becomes of serious
importance. All the larger living mammals--horse, cattle, sheep,
rhinoceros, tapir--have acquired an enormous increase in the size of
their brains--as much as six or eight times the volume of that of their
extinct ancestors whose bones and brain cavities we find fossilized
in the Tertiary strata. Man has by far the biggest brain of all these
animals, and has a unique degree of educability, together with the
fewest instincts or in-born hereditary mechanisms among animals. He
has practically to learn by individual experience--and therefore in
the form best suited to his individual requirements--a host of most
important actions and behaviours which even monkeys as well as dogs and
sheep and horses never have to "learn," but proceed to put in practice
as soon as they are born, or, at any rate, without any preliminary
process of experiment and effort. Man is the one highly "educable"
animal. In consequence of his large brain and its roomy memory he can
be, and is--even when a "savage"--educated. Monkeys and dogs have
only small "educability" as compared with man, though more than have
reptiles or fishes. Man's mind is, therefore, in this essential feature
different from that of animals. The modern mammals with brains as much
as eight times the bulk of their early Tertiary ancestors have, it is
true, acquired "educability" and the power of storing _individual_
experience as "memory," but their memory is far less extensive than
that of man, and though its guidance is of great value to them it acts
entirely, or nearly so, without consciousness. No doubt man's brain
includes some hereditary mechanisms, but in the main it distinctively
consists of nerve-mechanisms, formed by his own individual education,
acting on receptive and specially educable brain matter. And the brain
mechanism formed by education is of greater life-saving value than is
that of the inherited instincts which meet general emergencies, but not
those new and special to the individual.

The third step in the development of mind is the arrival (for one
can call it by no other term) of that condition which we call
"consciousness"--the power of saying to oneself "I am I," and of
looking on as a detached existence not only at other existences but at
one's own mental processes, feelings, and movements. With it comes
thought, knowledge, reason, and will. We may speak of consciousness
as invading or spreading gradually over the territory of mind. All
the three steps of the growth of mind which I have distinguished can
be seen following one on the other in the growth of a human child
from infancy to adolescence. The second step--the development of
individual mechanisms due to memory--is not in most animals, and not
entirely in man, pervaded by or "within the area of" consciousness.
Memory is at first "unconscious memory," and there still remains in
man a capacity for forming "memory" which never (or in some matters
only exceptionally) becomes illuminated by consciousness. Apparently
the inherited mechanisms which we call "instincts" are never within
the reach of consciousness, though, of course, the actions determined
by them are. It is a difficult matter to decide how far the memory
of apes, dogs, and such animals nearest to man is conscious memory.
Probably very little. But it is only when memory, as well as the
impression of the moment, is pervaded by consciousness that reflection,
and reason and action dependent on reason, are possible.[6]

[6] I have alluded to this subject again, necessarily with some
repetition in the chapter on "The Mind of Apes and of Man," p. 262.

Hence it is that man in all the procedure of courtship stands apart
from animals. Even the Australian has not only an educable brain,
but a more or less conscious memory. He seems to be permanently, in
this respect, in the condition of an ordinary European child of about
five years old. Gradually in the course of the development, both of
increased educability and of more and more efficient and serviceable
education, man has first abandoned by slow degrees his violent
ancestral methods of procuring a mate, and has, as the result of
observation, reflection, and conscious reasoning, taken to courtship
by persuasion and fascination, similar to that of the birds and other
remote creatures, retaining, however, for a long period his habit of
fighting with other males to establish his claim to the woman of his
choice. And at last, in his later development in civilized lands, he
has abandoned the more obvious arts of courtship and has taken to
decorating his womankind instead of himself. He has made woman take
over the habit of courtship by the fascination of colour and pose
whilst he looks on in sombre clothing with thoughtful reserve. He does
not any longer even rely on his strength or skill in fighting in order
to scatter his rivals, but makes appeal by word to the sympathy of
the desired mate and trusts to the fascination which the power, given
either by superior intellectual quality or by accumulated wealth, have
for her.

CHAPTER XXIV

DADDY-LONG-LEGS

IN early September, golf links and other such grasslands swarm with a
large gnat-like fly of reddish-brown body, feeble flight, and long,
straggling legs. These flies are generally called "Daddy-Long-Legs,"
or, by the more learned, "Crane-flies." I find that they are
sometimes confused with another fly of about the same size with
bright reddish-brown body, which is very much less abundant and
occasionally flutters around the lamps and candles in a country house
when the windows are open in the evening. This second kind of fly has
a formidable black-coloured sting, which it shoots out from the end
of its tail when handled; it has also two pairs of wings, and is an
Ichneumon-fly, one of the Hymenoptera, the order of insects to which
bees, wasps, ants, and gall-flies belong. Our daddy-long-legs has no
sting, though the female has a sharply pointed tail. It has only one
pair of wings, and belongs to the order Diptera, or tway-wing flies, in
which our house-fly and bluebottle, horse-flies, tsetse-flies, gnats,
and midges of vast number and variety are classified. They none of them
have tail "stings," though the tail may be elongated and pointed.

[Illustration: FIG. 22.

A, The Crane-fly (Daddy-Long-Legs), Tipula oleracea. _e_, the left eye;
_h_, one of the balancers or "halteres," which are the modified second
pair of wings; _th_, the thorax. Natural size.

B, The "Leather-jacket," the grub of the crane-fly. _a_, head; _b_,
tail. Natural size.

C, The Click-beetle or Skip-jack, Elater obscurus. The line beside it
shows its natural size.

D, The true Wire-worm or grub of the click-beetles. Enlarged to four
times the natural length. _a_, tail; _b_, head.]

Though the two-winged flies or Diptera have only two wings well grown
and of full size, the second or hinder pair of wings which other
insects possess of full size, are present in them in a very much
dwindled condition. Since most of our common flies are very small it is
difficult to see this dwindled pair of wings, which lie close behind
the first or large pair, and are called the "balancers," or "halteres."
The daddy-long-legs (Fig. 22, A) is big as flies go, and with a pocket
lens, or even without one, you can readily see the dwindled second pair
of wings standing out clearly from the body behind the attachment of
the first pair. These "balancers" are of the shape of a tennis racket,
or a ball-headed club. They serve no longer as organs of flight, but
as auditory organs. A minute parasitic insect (Stylops) which lives in
bees has only one pair of wings, but in this case it is the hinder pair
which are developed, the front pair being shrunk to rudimentary lappets.

The daddy-long-legs, or common crane-fly, is a little less than an inch
long and a little more than an inch across the spread wings. Its power
of flight is not well developed, and its six long legs are moved so
slowly and awkwardly that one would say that its powers of walking and
running are also feeble. Their strange movements have led some unknown
poet to imagine the "daddy" saying:

"My six long legs, all here and there,
Oppress my bosom with despair."

In reality these queerly-moving long legs serve the insect effectively
in making its way among the closely-set blades of grass about which
it crawls. The legs easily come off, and the loss of one does not
appear to be a serious matter. Probably the easy detachment of a leg
enables the fly to escape if one of them gets caught and nipped in
overlapping blades of grass--though such a throwing away of a limb
seems a rather reckless proceeding, especially since the insect has
no power of "regeneration" as it is called, that is, of growing a new
leg to replace the lost one. There are several well-known instances
of animals which have the power of breaking off a leg or the tail if
seized by an enemy or otherwise gripped. The smaller lizards and the
legless lizard, called the "slow-worm," have this power in regard to
the tail, but they proceed to grow a new tail after they have escaped.
Some marine worms have a similar faculty, and some star-fishes (hence
called "brittle-stars") have a most annoying habit of throwing off
their "arms" when caught. The central disk of these star-fish, with all
its arms shed, can "regenerate" the lost parts. Crabs, too, of various
kinds have the habit, when caught by the leg, of breaking it off, and
they may often be found with a completely-formed little leg, which
has been "regenerated" or grown afresh, and will in due time attain
full size. The beautiful hairy skin of the tail of the little dormouse
also will come off when the animal is caught by it, leaving the bony
blood-stained skeleton of the tail exposed to dry and wither up. There
is no re-growth in this case. I was horrified when I was a boy to see
six dormice reduced to this condition in the bird and beast shop on the
staircase of the old Pantheon bazaar. They had escaped from their cage
whilst I was looking on, and the shopman endeavoured to catch them,
with this distressing result.

So we find that the loss of its legs by the "daddy" is a means of
safety to it, and is a similar provision to that seen in some other
animals. It seems improbable that the "old father long-legs" who
"would not say his prayers" (according to an ancient nursery rhyme),
is a myth referring to a daddy-long-legs of the insect kind, since the
recommendation to "take him by his left leg and throw him downstairs"
would have been futile; his left leg would have come off as soon
as seized, and have greatly embarrassed the individual intending
to throw him downstairs! Another kind of insect-like animal, which
occurs commonly in cobwebby outhouses, and has a globular body and
eight very long legs--easily broken off--is also commonly called a
"daddy-long-legs." It has no wings, and is allied to the spiders,
though it is not a true spider--having a minute pair of nippers near
its mouth, instead of the pair of stabbing claws which spiders have.
It is frequently called a "harvester," a name loosely applied to other
small creatures. It is known to zoologists as Opilio.

Our crane-flies, or daddy-long-legs, when they swarm about the grass
are intent on two objects. They do not require food; they have had
enough when they were grubs concealed in the soil. They are now busy,
first, in pairing, so that the females' eggs may be fertilized; and,
secondly, the females are about to choose a likely piece of ground in
which to bore with their pointed tails and lay their eggs. They prefer
rather damp spots, shaded from the fierce drying heat of the sun, for
this purpose. When laying her eggs, the female balances herself with
her legs in an upright position, and, pushing the sharp tail into the
earth, moves round by the aid of her legs, to the right and to the
left, so as to bore a quarter of an inch or so into the loose soil.
Then she lays two or three eggs, and, coming down from her upright
pose, moves on through the blades of grass for 3 or 4 inches, and again
takes an upright attitude, and repeats the boring and egglaying. The
eggs are very small, black, shining grains, of which as many as 300 are
found in the body of one ripe female. The male crane-fly has a broad,
somewhat expanded end to its body, by which it is easily distinguished
from the female.

From the eggs minute maggots or grubs hatch and feed upon animal and
vegetable refuse in the soil, but as they increase in size they
burrow an inch or so into the ground among the grass roots. There
are two broods, one in spring and a more abundant one in August and
September. The grubs have no legs. Insect grubs are often legless, as,
for instance, the maggots or "gentles" of bluebottle-flies. Or they
are provided with short legs, as, for instance, are the "caterpillars"
or grubs of moths and butterflies. The grubs of the crane-fly (Fig.
22, B) show eleven rings or segments to the body, and have a tough
grey or brownish skin, which is so firm as to give them the name of
"leather-jackets." They have a head provided with a pair of short,
strong mandibles or jaws, and a very short pair of feelers (antennæ).
These grubs grow to be an inch and a half long, and are two-thirds
the thickness of a common quill pen. They gnaw with their hard jaws
the young shoots and roots of grass, and do an enormous amount of
damage to grassland. They are rarely seen except when a sod is lifted,
but in late spring and summer, when the grub changes to a motionless
pupa or chrysalis, they may be seen protruding for about a third
of their length from the surface amidst the grass tufts. Birds eat
them and rooks dig with their beaks into the sod in order to pull
them out, leaving a number of small pits (on the golf links) where
they have been at work. The proper name of these injurious grubs is
"leather-jackets." They are often confused with another grass-and-wheat
pest, the "wire-worm," and are in consequence sometimes called "false
wire-worms." The "wire-worm" is the grub of a beetle (Fig. 22, C
and D), and is very different in appearance and history from the
"leather-jacket," though both of them do great damage to grass and to
grain crops.

The common crane-fly, or daddy-long-legs, is called Tipula oleracea by
entomologists, and is abundant in Europe as well as in these islands.
There are other "species" of the genus Tipula common in England,
namely, a smaller kind with spotted wings, Tipula maculosa, or the
spotted crane-fly, and a large kind called Tipula paludosa, which
frequents marsh land. There are many species of Tipula in other parts
of the world, and there are closely allied kinds which are ranked in
distinct genera, differing a little in certain features from the genus
Tipula. These all form, taken together, the family Tipulidæ. They,
together with the various kinds of gnats or "mosquitoes," the midges
and fungus-flies, form one of two divisions into which the two-winged
insects or Diptera are divided, namely, those with long, thread-like
feelers or antennæ (Nemocera--thread horned), the other division
being those with quite short antennæ (Brachycera--short horned). The
latter group comprises the flies with thick, heavy bodies, such as the
common house-fly, the bluebottle, the horse-flies, bott-flies, and
tsetse-flies. The long-horned group have usually long, narrow bodies
and long, narrow wings, which do not at once lie flat on the back
when the fly alights (as do those of the short-horned group, as, for
instance, those of the common house-fly). The females of the common
gnat (Culex pipiens) and numerous allied species are bloodsuckers. The
various midges are mostly harmless, whilst others have females which
suck blood. The crane-flies do not bite. The real feeding of all these
gnat-like flies is done when they are in the grub phase of their life,
but the females of some gnats and midges appear to have the need of
extra nourishment when in the fully-formed free-flying state, in order
to ripen their large bulk of eggs. Hence, in some cases, they (but not
the males) suck the juices of plants and the blood of animals.

The larval or grub phase of life is passed by many of these flies in
the earth amidst putrefying vegetable and animal refuse on which they
feed, as in the instance of the daddy-long-legs; but here and there we
find species which penetrate into the soft parts of plants and animals.
A whole group of many species burrow into mushrooms and other fungi
when they are grubs; others, again, live in water when they are grubs
or "larvæ," and have a very active aquatic life, rising to the surface
to breathe air and searching for food in the water with their feelers
and eyes, and seizing it with their powerful jaws. The mother fly in
these cases lays her eggs in a group on the surface of the water or
embedded in a jelly which she secretes and attaches to the leaves of
water plants. Some of the short-horned flies (bott-flies and others)
lay their eggs in the living flesh of warm-blooded animals, including
man, and the maggots hatch there and feed on the juices of the
"flyblown" animal. Cases are not rare of children being thus infested.

The black flies which fly in swarms "high" or "low" in the country
lanes on summer evenings are not true biting gnats, but a large kind
of midges known as Chironomus or Harlequin flies. Their eggs are laid
in the water of ponds, and the larvæ on hatching bury themselves
in the rich black mud and feed there. The larvæ are of a splendid
blood-red colour, and are often called "blood-worms." They owe their
colour to the presence in their blood of the same red oxygen-seizing
crystallizable substance, hæmoglobin, which gives its red colour to
the blood of man and other vertebrates. Its presence is remarkable,
because in all other insects the blood is colourless or of pale blue or
green tint. It seems that this hæmoglobin renders service to the larvæ
of the big midges as it does to some other creatures which live in
impure water, where free oxygen is very small in quantity, namely, it
enables them to absorb and hold by loose chemical combination the small
quantity of oxygen available. The minute midges called "Hessian fly"
and "Cecidomyia"--injurious to cereal crops--should be mentioned here
as among the allies of crane-flies, as also the blood-sucking midges,
Ceratopogon, and the minute blood-sucking sand-flies or Buffalo-flies,
called "Simulium." Species of Ceratopogon, so minute as to be barely
visible, cause terrible annoyance by their bites to the salmon-fisher
in Scotland, where they often swarm in countless numbers. The
Buffalo-flies attack man, but in some districts of North America alight
in thousands on cattle, and cause death in a few hours. A harmless
long-horned fly is "the plumed fly," Corethra, the large aquatic larva
of which is glass-like and quite transparent, and offers splendid
facilities for microscopic research. I used to take it every year in a
pond near Hampstead Heath.

The leather-jackets, or grubs of the common crane-fly (Fig. 22,
B), sometimes destroy hundreds of acres--even whole districts--of
grassland in England and France by gnawing the young subterranean
roots and shoots of the grass. They also destroy young wheat crops.
The leather-jacket is regarded by agriculturists as an intractable
pest, since it gets too deep into the turf to be destroyed by chemical
poisons. Its thick skin also makes it very resistant to such treatment.
When immersed in brine for twenty-four hours the grubs are not killed;
prolonged immersion in water is equally ineffective; they may be frozen
until they are brittle, and will yet recover; and when kept three weeks
without food, still remain alive. Birds are their natural enemies, and
rooks not only dig after the grubs, but swallow the flies at the rate
of four a minute! Ploughing up the land in which the grubs abound is
recommended as a means of destroying them, and also the application
of gas-lime to the ground. Rolling the turf and pressing it down also
kills the grubs, but the best chance of diminishing their ravages is
found in draining wet land and in feeding up the young grass plants
with "fertilizers," so that they may grow rapidly and resist the
injurious effect of the leather-jackets' nibbling.

Before leaving this subject it will be found interesting to contrast
the "leather-jacket" with the true "wire-worms," which are the grubs of
a remarkable kind of beetle (there are half a dozen British species)
called the click-beetle (Fig. 22, C). They belong to a great family
of beetles (Coleoptera), known as the Elaterids or Elaters, of which
7000 species are known, sixty being British. Some of the most brilliant
light-giving or phosphorescent insects (not, however, the common
glow-worms) belong here. The click-beetles are so called because when
one is laid on its back it regains its proper pose, with the legs
beneath it, by a spring or "skip," accompanied by a sharp click. The
grubs of the click-beetles, known as "wire-worms" (the name is also
applied to centipedes), are more threadlike, that is to say narrower,
than the leather-jackets. They are not legless "maggots," but have
three pairs of small legs (Fig. 22, D). They destroy corn and grass,
and do not change into the adult condition in a few months, as do the
leather-jackets, but remain for three, and in some cases five, years
in the ground feeding on the roots of the corn and grass plants, doing
much destruction before they finally change into beetles.

CHAPTER XXV

THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE

IN order to understand and interpret correctly the operation of
natural selection in producing new species and maintaining them, by
"the preservation of favoured races in the struggle for life" (to use
Darwin's words), we must take a wide and, at the same time, a minutely
accurate survey of the living world. We must seek out the evidences of
this operation and use the imagination in forming conceptions as to the
varied steps of the process and the results which are likely to ensue
from it at different stages and in different conditions. We cannot
interpret the existing structures and behaviour of living things by the
use of a simple formula, such as that set up by some writers who have
not properly studied Mr. Darwin's works, and declare that, according to
him, all structures and behaviours which we observe in living things
are perfect and the finished result of survival of the ideally fittest
variations.

Plants and animals are so complex (as no one has shown more clearly
than Darwin), not only in their structure but in the chemical and
physical action and interaction of their living parts, that in the
course of the ages during which the present species have been, step by
step, fashioned in the endless vicissitudes of a changing world, many
of them have retained structures or chemical constitutions which once
were useful but now are useless, or even positively injurious. Even
injurious structures or behaviours may be retained and inherited by a
species of plant or animal, if, on the whole, the other accompanying
modifications of structure are valuable--that is, of "life-saving"
value, so that, "on the whole," the race is favoured by selection in
the struggle for existence.

In species which have but lately acquired dominance or are brought
by their success into novel conditions, we may, and do, find old
structures and behaviours still persisting which are injurious, not
yet, as it were, "cleaned up" and got rid of as they would be in the
course of further long periods of selection. Such species become
established, and may even acquire a definite stability, because the
injurious structures or behaviours which they have retained are of
little or no account as compared with the other advantageous characters
which the species have developed. The term "disharmonies" is applied to
such injurious characters, consisting in a certain want of harmony (in
minor respects) between the structure of an organism and the conditions
in which, nevertheless, it thrives.

Such species, imperfect because of their "disharmonies," are an
illustration of the fact that Nature herself, in matters relating to
living things, is not averse to compromise. Nature sets the example
of toleration. Toleration may be defended on the ground that it is
the biological method. Nature, though stern and inexorable as to
essentials, yet accepts the faults and defects of some of her children
because of the virtues and excellences which accompany them. The most
highly endowed and successful forms on account of their dominance and
power of spreading into new conditions, are even more likely than
less highly developed kinds to retain concealed defects--disharmonies
which do not lead to the destruction of the species, but occasionally
cause strange embarrassment to it until they are, possibly in the long
process of ages, got rid of by the slow operation of selection and
survival of those individuals in which the injurious character varies
in the direction of diminution and ultimate disappearance.

In man (owing, apparently, to the rapid rate at which he has been
carried along towards dominance over the whole face of the globe by the
development of his intelligence) the bodily structure has failed to
keep pace with and to become perfected, "trimmed up," and completely
adapted to, the newly-acquired habits which his increasing intelligence
has forced on him. His "wisdom teeth" are "disharmonies." They are now
useless and dwindled, weak spots open to the attacks of disease--since
they are no longer needed for grinding coarse vegetable food, and are
consequently no longer kept (by the speedy death of those individuals
in whom they are small) at the full original size and efficiency seen
in the apes. His large intestine is a "disharmony" not yet got rid of
by natural selection, although no longer useful, but, on the contrary,
the seat of poisonous putrefaction and absorption of such poisons. His
tail--a few small vertebræ beneath the skin--is absolutely useless,
and occasionally the seat of dangerous injury or disease. Tails very
generally are liable to become useless in the descendants of animals
in which they were invaluable as "fly-brushes" (cattle, horses, etc.),
as prehensible organs (American monkeys), as concealing cloaks (South
American ant-eater), as aids to swimming or flying, or as ornamental
glories (the big-cats and others). The stumpy tail of the lynx, of
some monkeys, and some lizards and fishes tells of a history in which
the full-sized tail became a "disharmony"--a positive nuisance--and
has been reduced, even if not abolished, by natural selection of
short-tailed or tail-less varieties.

We have to be careful in asserting that any structure or behaviour in
an organism is certainly a "disharmony," for it is very difficult to be
quite sure as to the complete details of the life of a wild creature,
and so to be able to form a conclusion rather than to suggest a
possibility--as to the part played by an apparently injurious structure
or habit in the economy of that creature.

One of the most striking instances of a habit or behaviour which
persists and dominates the life of a wild animal to its own injury
and destruction is that shown by many moths and other insects, which
are attracted at night by a flame (a lamp or an open fire), and fly
into it even when burnt by it, again and again until they are killed.
A burnt child dreads the fire; but a burnt moth or a singed ichneumon
fly seems to enjoy being burnt, and becomes more and more excited by
its dashes into the flame until it finally drops with shrivelled wings
to the ground. My brother told me some years ago of the verandah of
his house in Java in which an open lamp was lit every night. Regularly
two sets of animals, driven and guided by the action of the light on
their nervous mechanism, arrived on the scene. Swarms of moths and
flies dashed in and out of the flame and fell, maimed by the heat, to
the ground. There a strange group had already assembled. Gigantic toads
and wall lizards crept from their holes in the masonry and woodwork,
and awaited the shower of injured insects, which they snapped up in
eager rivalry as the infatuated flame-seekers dropped, hour after
hour, to the floor. The instinct, the nervous mechanism, which
brought the greedy reptiles to the spot was a "harmony," a valuable
guide to nutrition; whilst the flame-seeker's impulse is assuredly a
"disharmony"--a defect in adjustment--leading to death.

It is interesting to inquire into the probable origin of this fatal
desire for close contact with a source of light, a desire so strong as
to be entirely unchecked by the deadly heat accompanying the light.
The May-flies or Ephemerids are delicate little creatures, having four
net-veined wings rarely more than three-quarters of an inch across,
with two or three long filaments hanging from the tail. Three hundred
species are known from all parts of the world, of which forty occur in
the British Islands. They live as wingless, six-legged larvæ in the
water for a couple of years, feeding voraciously. Then one summer's
evening they very rapidly escape from their larval skin and fly over
the water in countless swarms. But only for a few hours. The eggs of
the females are fertilized, and they all, both males and females,
drop dead or dying into the water, where they are greedily devoured
by fishes. The males are far more numerous than the females; in some
species as many as 6000 males to one female have been counted. They
are attracted to an extraordinary degree by lights (flames or electric
lamps) set up for nocturnal illumination by civilized man, and in some
districts they are collected by fishermen in this way for use as food
for fish, or were so in Holland in the eighteenth century according
to Swammerdam's statement in his "Biblia Naturæ." Why do they thus
seek artificial lights? There is some indication of an explanation
in the fact that two tropical species of May-flies are known which,
like the glow-worms and fire-flies, produce light in their bodies. The
May-flies, especially the males, have unusually large and prominent
eyes, as is the case with phosphorescent fishes and some other
light-producing animals, and it appears probable that in the now rare
instances of self-luminous May-flies, the sexes are attracted to one
another by the light they produce, as is the case in other luminous
insects. It seems probable that the ancestral May-flies, of which many
remarkable kinds have been discovered in the fossilized condition in
strata as far back in time as those of the coal-measures, were all
self-luminous, and acquired an overpowering instinct of seeking the
light given out by other individuals as a necessary step towards sexual
congress. In the course of ages other senses (probably smell and touch)
have been called in to bring the fluttering insects into association.
The power of producing light, being no longer needed, has disappeared
from all but two rare species. But the urgent erotic instinct, the
nervous mechanism, which drove the ancient May-flies towards the
dancing lights of other May-flies, has remained unaltered in all the
living species of the group. It is a "disharmony" which has not been of
sufficient destructive importance to be "cleared away" or suppressed
by natural selection. In pre-human times, nocturnal fires and lights
were too uncommon to cause much disaster to the May-flies. But now that
mankind sets up everywhere his nocturnal flames and electric lamps, the
previously unimportant useless survival of an overpowering impulse to
rush to nocturnal lights, reveals itself as a serious and death-dealing
"disharmony." We must suppose, on this theory, that the other insects,
such as moths and certain flies (by no means all insects), which also
madly fly into nocturnal lights to their own destruction, have had
luminous ancestors and a similar early history. This is a legitimate
supposition, since there are several very distinct kinds of insects
known at the present day which are luminous at night, although no
existing moths or butterflies are known to be so.

A fact bearing on the explanation of the insects' perilous rush to
flame is that birds when migrating are attracted by the great brilliant
lamps of lighthouses, and, flying towards them, strike against their
glass coverings, and are killed in considerable numbers. In that case,
it may be that the flying towards the sun has become instinctive, and
that the bright light of the lighthouse acts upon a certain number of
birds (perhaps the less well-adjusted individuals) so as to call forth
the same response in the direction of flight as that exercised by the
sun's globe. The truth or error of this suggestion should be tested by
an examination of the species of birds which kill themselves against
lighthouse lanterns, and a knowledge of the season and direction of
their migration.

As to luminous or phosphorescent (often called "luminescent") insects
and other animals, there are a great many curious and interesting facts
known. There are luminescent bacteria (common on old meat bones and
dead fish and in the sea generally), animalcules of various species,
jelly-fish, star-fish, worms, shell-fish, and crustaceans and true
fishes. Inhabitants of the great depths of the ocean of all kinds
are usually luminescent. The light is caused by the oxidation of a
peculiar fatty substance. Without free oxygen there is no luminescence,
and yet no heat is produced but merely light, as when a stick of
damp phosphorus glows. The luminescence of living things (often, but
undesirably, called phosphorescence) is a process differing greatly
from that called "phosphorescence" in minerals and crystals, such as
the emission of light by a lump of white loaf-sugar when crushed.
You may see that kind of phosphorescence by standing in front of a
looking-glass in a dark room and crushing a lump of loaf-sugar with
the teeth, keeping the lips raised. It seems that in many organisms
luminescence occurs without any consequent use or service to the
organism. But in higher forms the power of emitting light has been
seized upon by natural selection having become of value in attracting
the individuals of a species to one another, or in attracting prey, or
again in scaring enemies. The luminescent matter is concentrated in
certain definite organs, and the access to it of oxygen and even its
formation are controlled by the nervous system.

Among insects far better known than the rare luminescent May-flies,
are the glow-worms, a family of beetles of which several species are
known besides our own familiar one, called Lampyris noctiluca. The
fire-flies of Southern Europe--Luciola italica--are small beetles
allied to the glow-worm, but both sexes fly and both are luminous,
whilst in the common glow-worm the female is wingless, and the flying
male, who is guided to the female by her light (which she can vary in
intensity), gives but a feeble light. The swarms of Italian fire-flies
consist of as many as a hundred males to one female, and the males are
far more brilliant than the females. My fellow-student Moseley showed
some in oxygen gas at the Royal Society's soirée many years ago. The
gas greatly increased their brilliancy. Many valuable experiments
in search of an explanation of the brilliance of the male Luciolæ
and their excess in number could be carried out in North Italy. A
peculiar grub-like female glow-worm, three inches long, is found in
South America, which produces a red light at each end of the body and
numerous points of green light on each side of it. It is called the
"railway-beetle" in Paraguay.

Another family of beetles besides the Lampyrids, or glow-worms, is
celebrated for the brilliant luminescence of some of its species.
These are the click-beetles, or Elaterids (see Fig. 22, C). In South
America there are upwards of a hundred species of this group, showing
various degrees of luminosity. The "Cucujos" (Pyrophorus noctilucus) of
tropical America is one of the most abundant and largest. It is as much
as an inch and a half long, and has three "lamps," or luminous organs,
one on each side of the body and one below the tail. The light given
off is extremely beautiful, and the live insects are used by the women
for ornament and by the country-folk as lamps on nocturnal excursions.
Erroneously the term "fire-fly" is applied to these beetles; it should
be reserved for the little Italian Luciola, which swarms, as countless
thousands of dancing lights, in the nights of early summer over the
marsh lands of North Italy. I have seen it at the end of June as far
north as Bonn, on the Rhine. In Australia a small true "fly"[7]--that
is to say, a two-winged fly or Dipteron like our gnats, midges, and
house-flies--is known, the maggot of which is luminous. And in New
Zealand there is another of which both the maggot and the perfect
insect are luminous. The grub is called the New Zealand glow-worm.[8]

[7] Known to entomologists as Ceroplatus mastersi.

[8] Boletophila luminosa of entomologists.

There are grounds for believing that the luminescence of some of these
insects serves them not to attract one another, but to scare would-be
predatory foes, such as birds, bats, and reptiles. I have heard a story
(which I should like to have confirmed) that in some part of tropical
Asia a certain kind of bird collects half a dozen or so of a species
of glow-worm and places them at the entrance to its nest, so as to
scare nocturnal animals which might attack its eggs or its young. It
is a noteworthy fact that a point of light in the dark may act in two
opposite ways on animals which see it--either it attracts or it repels
them. The physiologist calls this positive and negative "photo-taxis"
(light-guidance). And we have the similarly positive and negative
influence of chemical taste and smell, called "chemo-taxis," and a
similarly contrasted positive and negative "hygrotaxis," or directive
influence of moisture upon the movements of animals and plants.

CHAPTER XXVI

FROM APE TO MAN

THE recent discoveries of the actual bones of very early races of man
raise again a general interest in the inquiry as to what are the actual
differences of structure between men and apes, and what were probably
the steps by which, as the result of "survival of the fittest," some
early man-like apes became ape-like men. The question also arises as
to how long ago the transition actually took place, and whether it was
a very gradual or a rapid one. We are to-day in possession of some
important facts bearing upon this inquiry which were unknown to Huxley
when he wrote his ever-memorable essay on "Man's Place in Nature," and
triumphantly closed the controversy between himself and Sir Richard
Owen. That was nearly fifty years ago.

Owen had maintained that the structural difference between man and
the highest apes was so great that it could only be rightly expressed
by placing man in a separate sub-class of the class "Mammalia"--the
hairy vertebrate animals which have warm blood and suckle their
young. He pointed chiefly to the large size of the brain in man, the
existence on each side of its central cavity of a little internal
swelling called the "hippocampus minor," in the fanciful language of
anatomists, and of the overlapping (within the skull) of the cerebellum
by the hinder part of the large brain-hemispheres, or cerebrum. He
called the sub-class (in which he proposed to place man alone) the
"archencephala," or that of the highest developed brains (Greek,
"archi," chief, and "encephalon," a brain), and proposed three other
sub-classes, to contain the other orders of mammals (the Gyrencephala,
Lissencephala, and Lyencephala), grouped according to three grades
of complexity of the brain. Huxley denied the justification of this
special grouping, by which man was placed in a separate and highest
sub-class apart from the apes and monkeys. He pointed out that every
bone and every part recognized by the anatomist in the higher apes is
present in man (though other mammals present no such identity with him
or them), and that there are only three little muscles belonging to
the hand and the foot which are present in man and not present in the
higher apes. He showed that the term "four-handed," or "quadrumanous,"
as applied to the apes and monkeys, is misleading, inasmuch as, though
modified in the proportions of the digits and the mobility of the
great toe, the foot of the apes has the same bones and muscles as the
foot of man, and differs in structure from their hand as the foot of
man differs from his hand, whilst the true hand of the apes agrees in
structure with the hand of man.

Huxley (supported by many other anatomists) also showed conclusively
that the little lobe in the interior of the brain called the
"hippocampus minor" is present in the apes as in man, and that the
posterior part of the greater brain, or "cerebrum," does overlap the
"cerebellum" in apes and many monkeys to an even greater extent than
it does in man. Owen's statements on this matter appear to have been
due to his reliance on specimens of apes' brains removed from the
skull and badly preserved in spirit--in which condition the parts in
question had slipped out of their natural position. Owen's statements
were thus fully demonstrated to be contrary to the fact, and Huxley
declared, and conclusively showed, that so far from being entitled, on
anatomical grounds, to a separate sub-class, man differs less from the
higher apes--the four animals known as the gorilla, the chimpanzee,
the orang-utan, and the gibbon--than does any one of these differ from
the lower monkeys. Huxley came, therefore, to the conclusion that man
could not logically be dissociated from the apes and monkeys in the
way proposed by Owen, and that he should be placed with them in one
"order," to which the name "Primates" (pronounced as three syllables,
and having no reference to the clergy of the Anglican Church) is
applied. This name was given by the great naturalist Linnæus, one
hundred and fifty years ago, to the same group, in which, however, he
erroneously included also the bats.

It was distinctly pointed out by Huxley, and has been maintained by all
those who have since occupied themselves with the matter, that there
are certain very obvious differences between man and the highest ape,
or that which comes nearest to him in the largest number of important
features--the gorilla. The chimpanzee is practically, for the purpose
of such a comparison, very nearly identical with the gorilla. Both are
inhabitants of tropical Africa, whilst the next nearest, the orang
and the gibbons, are inhabitants of tropical Asia. The differences
separating man from these near kindred animals are differences of the
size and proportion of structures present in them all, and are not due
to the existence in man of actual parts or structures which are present
in him and not present in these apes. Man has developed from the ape,
not by the production of any new organ or part, but by the definite
modification of parts already present in the apes. Even that obscure
internal worm-like outgrowth of the intestine, called the "vermiform
appendix," which has become so unhappily familiar to the general public
of late years on account of its frequent ulceration and the consequent
danger to life, is present in full size in those higher apes which I
have cited by name, and is present in them and man alone amongst all
the varied members of the class of mammals until we come to the little
Australian beaver-like "wombat," which has a vermiform appendix or
narrowed tube-like extremity to the intestinal sac, called the cæcum,
like that of man and the higher apes.

The changes of bodily form and proportions noticeable when we compare
man with the gorilla or the chimpanzee are precisely those which fit in
with the supposition of a gradual change of form and habits favoured by
natural selection in the struggle for existence of ape-like creatures
living originally in tropical forests, but gradually spreading beyond
the special conditions of tropical life into other conditions and
seeking to hold their own and to nourish themselves and their young.
They have had to contend with one another for food and safety and to
defend themselves either by violence or by craft against predatory
animals and competitors of all kinds.

There are certain notions still current dating from Roman times as
to differences between man and apes, which are simply erroneous and
fanciful in origin. Thus, at one time the possession of a tail was
supposed to separate animals, including monkeys and apes, from man.
The rare abnormal cases in which the end of the vertebral column of
man is free and projects as a tail, were, a couple of hundred years
ago, cited with wonder and head-shakings as a proof that there was,
after all, a real similarity in man's structure to that of animals,
and pictures of the "Homo caudatus," or tailed man, were to be found
in ancient books dealing with marvels and mysteries. As a matter of
fact, three or four small insignificant vertebræ, almost immovable, are
always present in man attached to the great bone called the sacrum,
formed by the union of five vertebræ. These small vertebræ, to which
the name "coccyx" is applied, are sunk beneath the skin and fat, at the
end of the backbone, and though they correspond to bones of the tail of
other animals, they are, in normal mankind, thus concealed from view.
Precisely the same atrophy and concealment of the bones of the tail is
found in the gorilla, chimpanzee, orang, and gibbons. They are all of
them, seen in the flesh, as tail-less as man is, and seen in skeleton
have precisely the same number of minute tail bones forming a "coccyx."
This is true not only of the higher apes mentioned, but of the Barbary
ape--which lives at Gibraltar--whilst others, such as the mandrill,
have very short tails. In fact, the tail is a very variable appendage
in monkeys, and, as the Manx breed shows, also in cats. It is mainly
"decorative" in the old-world monkeys, and is probably maintained by
sexual selection. It is only in the new-world monkeys that it has
acquired obvious mechanical value. In them it is prehensile, and is
used with great effect in swinging among the trees from branch to
branch, whilst the hands and feet are left free to grasp any new
support.

Another feature which is commonly, but erroneously, supposed to
constitute a great difference between man and apes is the hairiness
of the latter. This is only a difference of degree, for the whole
surface of the body of man, excepting the eyelids, lips, palms of the
hands, and soles of the feet, is covered by hair, as it is, with the
same exceptions, in the apes. It is true that the hair is very fine
and small on most parts of the body of man and longer on the head.
But there are races of men (the Ainos of Japan and the pygmies of the
Upper Nile) in which the hair on the body is coarser and more uniformly
distributed than in others, and there are individuals of exceptional
"hairiness" in all races of man. Moreover, before birth a coat of
relatively coarse and abundant hair, called the "lanugo," is shed by
the human fœtus. One variety of chimpanzee is practically bald--that
is to say, has no obvious hair on the cranial region of the head. The
celebrated "Sally," who lived so long in the Zoological Gardens in
London, was one of this variety. When she died, I placed her brain, a
remarkable one, in the museum at Oxford. Thus we see that neither tail
nor hairiness separates apes from men.

So, too, the notion that animals, and therefore apes, do not and
cannot laugh is erroneous. Many animals, including chimpanzees, laugh.
These men-like apes also sing and dance and utter sounds (as do
lower monkeys) which have definite meaning, though those sounds are
very few in number and variety, and are separated by a long period
of elaboration (both of skill in vocalization and in the mental
development necessary to give significance to the sounds produced),
from what we call "human language"--even from the speech of the most
primitive of existing men.

It is often assumed as a matter of prejudice--with the intention of
marking off the animal world to which the apes belong, from ourselves,
the human race--that the apes show little intelligence, reasoning
power, and constructive aptitudes, which might serve as the beginning
of man's arts and crafts, were man derived by a slow process of
development from ape-like animals of a long past geologic period. The
fact is that there has been very little opportunity for studying the
capacities of apes in regard to such matters, since when kept in cages
they have not the opportunity of showing the skill and understanding
which in their natural conditions would be obvious. The monkeys show
(and this has been especially observed in the chimpanzee), in a degree
greater than is seen in other animals, the mental quality which we call
"curiosity." And this is combined with a persistence and determination
in observation and in experiment with the purpose of satisfying that
curiosity which is rarely, if ever, exhibited by other animals to
anything like the same extent.

The higher apes will use their fingers to turn the screws which fasten
down the lid of a box in order to see what is inside. Lately the
large orang in the Zoological Gardens of London succeeded, after long
efforts, in unwinding the wire fastenings of its cage and escaping
into the open. It climbed into a tree, and immediately constructed
for itself a platform of branches which it broke off from the tree.
It then sat upon this platform, as is its habit when in its native
forest. Many of the larger monkeys have great skill in throwing stones,
sending them with considerable force and good aim. They select stones
of size and weight appropriate to their purpose, and it would not be
surprising should apes have learnt to select stones for other purposes,
such as cracking nuts or the shells of molluscs, in order to extract
the soft nourishing food which they contain. They are known to make
use of stones for such purposes, and it would be but a short step in
advance for them to choose one suitable for use as a hammer, and
another suitable for use as a piercing or cutting tool. And from such a
stage there is a gradual and easy passage to the simplest breaking and
preparation of stones for use--in fact, to the earliest fabrication of
"implements."

It is obvious when we compare not only the structure but what we know
of the ways and habits of the lowest savages and the highest apes,
that it is not by mere strength, swiftness, or agility that man has
flourished and established himself, leaving the apes far behind him as
"inferior" creatures, though as a matter of fact he is not deficient
in these qualities. It is by his observation, knowledge, memory, and
purposive skill that he has succeeded, and it is easy to point out a
whole series of modifications of form separating man from apes, which
are clearly contributory to the development of the mental qualities
which give him his actual superiority. I think we are justified in
taking the large opposable thumb and fingers as the starting-point
in man's emergence from the ape stage of his ancestry. The exploring
hand, with its thumb and forefinger, is the great instrument by which
the intelligence, first of the monkey and then of man, has been
developed. The thumb of the gorilla is, in proportion to the size of
the fingers, very much smaller than that of man, but bigger than that
of the chimpanzee, and much bigger than that of the orang and of lower
monkeys. It is evident that the thumb has increased in size in the
man-like apes, and in man himself this increase has been carried much
further, and led to the perfecting of the hand as an instrument of
exploration and construction. Contributory to the perfecting of the
hand has been the gradual attainment of the upright carriage, and the
use of the feet alone for walking, and the reservation of the hand for
delicate exploring operations, and the bringing of objects near to the
eye, to the nose, the ear, and the mouth for investigation by the great
organs of special sense. The foot has become "plantigrade" in connexion
with the assumption of upright carriage. It has independently become
plantigrade in the gibbons and the baboons. That is to say, we and they
do not walk on the edge of the half-grasping foot as do the gorilla,
chimpanzee, and orang, but more steadily and firmly on its flat sole
(plantar surface), as do the bears and some other animals. At the same
time man has lost very greatly (but not entirely) the power of grasping
with his toes. The upright carriage enabled the early ancestors of man
to survey, and so to judge the conditions of safety or danger at a
distance from them, as well as to devote their hands to new and special
uses.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SKELETON OF APES AND OF MAN

THE upright carriage of man has entailed remarkable changes in the
proportions and shapes of parts of his body, as well as leading to
special skill in the use of his hands. The vertebral column of man has
not the single curve of a bow, as it has (practically) in the higher
apes, but as he stands it curves (slightly, it is true, but definitely)
forward at the neck, backward at the chest, forward at the loins, and
backward again at the hips, an arrangement which appears to protect to
some extent the brain from the transmission to it along the vertebral
column of the shock caused by the sudden impact of the feet on the
ground in jumping. The head is balanced on the top of this slightly
elastic curvilinear column, the joint by which the skull rests on the
vertebræ being placed beneath the brain-box and near the middle region
of the skull. The ligaments which hold the skull in place are smaller
than those in monkeys. In the higher apes the skull is not so balanced,
but is held by very strong ligaments and muscles braced, as it were,
on to the end of the forwardly sloping, nearly straight, backbone,
from which it projects, and has further to be held in position by a
great ligament attached to it and the dorsal processes of the neck
vertebræ. As an adaptation to the upright carriage of man, the shape
of his pelvic bones is that of a basin upon which his coiled mass
of intestines can rest when he stands erect. The pelvic bones of the
higher apes are flat, nearly parallel with the broad plane of the back,
and give no such support; the viscera have to rest against the wall
of the abdomen in the stooping position assumed by these animals in
walking. The abdominal walls are consequently strong and thick, and the
abdomen protrudes, as does that of a very young child. One result of
man's upright carriage, showing that it is a recent acquirement and one
to which he is not completely adapted, is the frequent occurrence in
him of "hernia," or protrusion of the intestine through certain spaces
in the deep fibrous wall of the abdomen. There would be no excessive
pressure upon these spaces (near the groin), and therefore little
danger of hernia, were it not for man's newly-acquired habit of erect
gait. He is still incompletely adapted to the upright pose.

The arms of man are relatively shorter and his legs much longer than
in the man-like apes. The Neandermen were more ape-like in these
proportions than are modern races of man, and show also an "ape-like"
curvature of the thigh bone which in man is straight. Whilst the arm
and hand of man has gradually become a more delicate thing than that
of the apes, and capable of much greater variety and efficiency in the
movements of its parts, this condition has come about by alteration
in proportions and to some extent shape, and not by any great change
in construction. Only two muscles exist in connexion with man's hand
not found in that of the higher apes. They are small slips adding to
the efficiency of the fingers and thumb, whilst in the foot there is
in man a small muscle connected with its outer border--"the peroneus
tertius"--which helps to keep the sole of the foot turned downwards,
and is not present in the apes. The general shape and proportionate
size of the muscles of the leg in man give it a very different
appearance from that of the ape; but there are no muscles or bones
present which are not found in the apes. The beautiful outline and form
of the human leg and buttocks are directly the result of the increased
size of certain muscles used in maintaining the upright position,
and in the peculiarly human swing of the leg in walking and running.
Their beauty, like that of the other specially human features which we
consider beautiful, depends upon the fact that their development, in
due proportion, is a necessary condition of efficiency, activity, and
strength in movements and attitudes which have gradually been acquired
by man, and distinguish him from the apes. Our admiration for them is
a sort of self-love, a worship of an ideal of efficiency and balance
which is specifically "human," and is more or less fully realized in
every individual. Probably sexual selection has had a large share in
thus moulding the human form. The apes do not present the development
of the gluteal region characteristic of man, and the muscles of both
the arms and legs in them are, though very powerful, less fleshy and
more "stringy" than those of man. There is, indeed, a difference
of "quality" in the muscles of apes and men, especially civilized
men, which needs investigation by the microscopist and experimental
physiologist.

Though we necessarily compare man with the highest existing apes, we
must not suppose that the man-like ape from which the earliest ape-like
men developed was in fact a gorilla or a chimpanzee. The survival
of the gorilla and chimpanzee at this day necessarily implies that
they were not the actual ancestral forms which became modified and
superseded in the course of man's development. Very probably the ape
(the creature more ape-like than man-like, of which more anon) from
which man took his direct descent had already developed a plantigrade
foot--that is a foot of which the sole is placed on the ground for
support, as it is in gibbons, baboons, and bears, but not in most apes,
nor in cats, dogs, sheep, and horses! And probably the hands of that
ancestral ape were already used more dexterously in consequence, and
the dog teeth were less needed either in fighting or in breaking up
food and so had become smaller.

This reflection brings us to the differences between the teeth of a
man and those of apes. The face of apes is drawn forward so as to
approach in form the "muzzle" of a dog. It is far less muzzle-like
in the more man-like apes than in the dog-faced baboons, and in the
least civilized living races of man is much less prominent--what is
called "prognathous"--than in the highest existing apes. In civilized
living races of man it is markedly reduced, so that in the habitual
carriage of the head, with the eyes looking forward over a horizontal
plane at right angles to the vertical or upright body, the front
border of the jaws, in which the chisel-like incisor teeth are set,
usually projects but very little beyond the brow or forehead. In Greek
sculpture and other examples regarded by us as types of "beauty," the
jaws do not project at all. Such a face is called "orthognathous."
This modification of the shape of the face is due to the progressive
dwindling in the size of the front part of the jaw and its teeth in
the series dog, ape, less-civilized man, highly-civilized man, and is
accompanied by an increase in the size of the front part of the brain.
The number of the teeth and their arrangement in groups are identical
in man and the apes. The most important difference is in the size of
the front teeth, and especially in the size of the "corner" teeth (one
on each side above and below), also called eye-teeth, dog-teeth, or
"canines." In the highest apes, as in all monkeys, the canine teeth
are very large, and even tusk-like in the males, projecting above the
horizonal line formed by the crowns of the other teeth. This projecting
of the canine teeth results in their not meeting one another point
to point when the jaws are closed, but necessitates one, the lower,
shutting in front of the other, and a space is left in the row of
teeth, both in the upper and the lower jaw, for this interlocking of
the great canines. It is called a "diastema." Man stands in strong
contrast to the apes in this respect. His canines do not project beyond
the level of the neighbouring teeth, and there is no "diastema" or gap
in either the upper or lower row of his teeth.[9] There is no trace of
such a gap nor any excess of size of the canines in any living race of
men, and what is more remarkable, the jaws of very ancient prehistoric
men which have been found in the Middle Pleistocene--the Neander or
Moustierian men as well as the more ancient jaw from Heidelberg (see p.
286)--do not show any difference in this respect from the most advanced
European race. On the other hand, it is one of the most remarkable
features presented by the recently discovered "Piltdown" lower jaw that
it had a larger canine tooth than that of any recent or fossil man, and
consequently a gap or "diastema" in the row of teeth (see Chap. XXX).
This difference between men and apes is all the more marked since the
grinders or cheek teeth (called also molars) of man and the higher
apes agree very closely, each to each in order of their position, in
the pattern formed by the irregular surface of the crown. There are
some slight differences in relative size and in the order of their
"cutting" or growth, but these are trivial. The jaws of man show their
derivation by gradual dwindling from the larger projecting jaws seen
in apes and monkeys, in the close setting (that is to say, "crowding")
of the teeth, and also in the dwindling and late "cutting" of the last
tooth, in each jaw above and below, which we call the wisdom tooth.
The "wisdom teeth" are in the higher races of men on their way to
total disappearance. In lower races of men they are larger than in the
higher, and in the man-like apes are of full size, and there is plenty
of room in the jaw for them.

[9] See Plates VII. and VIII., p. 166, in "Science from an Easy Chair,"
Second Series, for careful drawings of the complete series of teeth in
both the upper and lower jaw of Man and of an Ape.

In the highest apes as well as the lower, the bony lower jaw slopes
gradually backwards and downwards from the _palisade_ of front
chisel-like teeth or incisors (see Fig. 23 C, p. 277). There is no
bony projection below the front teeth--in fact, no bony "chin." But
in all modern races of men the front part of the semicircle arch of
teeth has shrunk or "withdrawn" considerably or more than has the
bony jaw in which the teeth are set. Consequently the bone projects
in front of the front teeth as the bony chin (see Fig. 23 A, p. 277,
and also "Science from an Easy Chair," 1910, pp. 404, 405). This is
characteristic of modern races of man and occurs in no other animal.
The very remarkable fact has recently been established that in the
ancient species of man from the Middle and Lower Pleistocene--the
Neander man and the Heidelberg man (Homo Neanderthalensis)--this extra
or excessive shrinking of the dental arch (the half-circle formed by
the complete row of teeth) had not taken place. Though the teeth are
placed closely side by side and have the same shape as in modern man,
they are a little bigger and form a larger and longer arch--more like a
horse-shoe than a semicircle, and have not shrunk back so as to leave a
projecting bony chin. The bony jaw _recedes_ in these early races of
men from the line of the front teeth as it does in the apes. _They have
no chin_ (see Fig. 25, p. 286).

Since we are all accustomed to regard a well-marked chin as a necessary
feature of a beautiful human face, and to deplore or disapprove the
receding or evanescent chin, it is not improbable that sexual selection
has favoured the recession of the dental arch with the retention of the
original bulk of the lower front margin of the jaw and chin, though
why the chin should be thus appreciated is a matter of speculation. It
is remarkable that in many of the monkeys the hair grows forward as
a projecting beard on the front of the jaw, so as to resemble a chin
although no chin is there. It is also the fact that some uncivilized
races of men trim the beard and train it in a forward growth so as to
suggest the possession of a very prominent chin, when in reality their
solid chins of flesh and bone are not especially large.

It is not easy to suggest how the reduction in size of the canines and
front teeth and of the length of the jaw could be of such advantage
to incipient man as to lead to the survival of those individuals
in which these parts were least developed, and so gradually to the
crowding of the teeth, reduced in size, into a jaw of reduced length,
whilst at a late stage, long after man was man and no ape, the teeth
became so reduced in volume as to leave the lower margin of the lower
jaw--projecting far in front of them as the "chin," the eminently
human chin. The nutrition of these parts placed in the head near the
brain, the great canine having so vast a fang that it reaches up to the
eye-socket, whence it is called the "eye-tooth," renders it probable
that there is a relation depending on nutrition and blood supply
between them and that all-important organ contained in the neighbouring
bony box, the brain. As the great teeth and long jaw have dwindled, the
brain has increased in volume, and, what is more important, in activity.

Other neighbouring bony structures have dwindled whilst the brain
has increased. The great longitudinal and transverse crests of bone
seen on the skull of the gorilla may never have existed in that form
of ape from which man is derived, but a tendency to such ridge-like
outgrowth and to a greater thickness of the bony wall of the brain-case
characterizes apes as distinguished from men, and its disappearance
is one of the changes which have accompanied the expansion of the
brain-case and the increased size of brain in man. Lower races of
existing men have frequently thicker skulls than the higher races.
The bony development of the skull in the higher apes is especially
remarkable in the region just above the eye. The upper border of the
orbit is greatly thickened, and projects as a bony arch overhanging the
eye. But the extent of this growth, as also of crests on the skull,
varies in individuals, and is much smaller in females than in males. In
the young these ridges and prominences are absent. It is accordingly no
very great change that they should disappear altogether in man, even
were they as large in the ape-like ancestor of man, which probably
they were not. But the existence of a considerable thickening and
forward growth of the eyebrow region of the skull is noticed in many
human skulls. It is particularly large in some skulls of Australian
"black-fellows," and is still larger in and characteristic of the
ancient species of men of the Moustierian period in Europe, Homo
Neanderthalensis.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE BRAIN OF APES AND OF MAN

A GREAT and undoubtedly very important difference between man and apes
is the much greater size of the brain in man. This difference is most
conveniently measured by filling the cavity of a skull, once occupied
by the brain, with shot or other such material, and then measuring the
bulk of the material required for that purpose. The unit which it is
convenient to use in all such measurements is the cubic centimetre,
because it is that used by scientific workers all over the world. A
cubic centimetre is a cube the side of which is a centimetre long, and
two and a half centimetres are equal to one inch. Moreover, if ever
one is doubtful as to just how much an inch is, one has only to get
hold of a halfpenny and mark off its breadth on a piece of paper. That
is an inch, and two-fifths of it are a centimetre. Using, then, cubic
centimetres as our units, we find that a good average European human
brain is of the bulk of 1500 units. The gorilla has a slightly larger
brain than the chimpanzee or the orang. Individual specimens differ a
good deal. This is noteworthy as showing a tendency of this important
organ to vary. One of good medium bulk measures 500 units, or a third
of that of the well-developed European. The size of European human
brains also varies within very large limits--about a third more and a
third less--that is, from about 1000 units to nearly 2000. Idiots have
abnormally small brains which are often deformed. We leave them aside
for the moment. Healthy European adults have been measured with a brain
of only 1000 units. Australian "black-fellows" have, it seems, in some
cases a brain which measures as little as 900 units, but in others it
reaches 1500. The skull of the fossil man from Pleistocene (possibly
Pliocene) gravels in Java (known as Pithecanthropus) had a capacity of
only 900 units.

If we suppose (as it is legitimate to do) that some specimens of
the gorilla may have a brain a third larger than the average we get
670 units for the biggest gorilla brain, and if we similarly assume
that the primitive human race of the Java gravel varied to the same
extent--namely, by a third more or less around 900 as the normal--we
find that the greatest size of the gorilla brain overlaps the smallest
of the Javan Pithecanthropus, whilst the largest of that race would
overlap not only the Australian but the smaller-sized brains of
Europeans. Hence, if we accept, as we must, the fact that the brain
of man and the man-like apes naturally varies greatly in volume in
different individuals, there is no absolute gap in regard to size
between the higher races of man and the apes. The difference is bridged
over by the lower races of man and the exceptional individuals of apes.

A remarkable feature in regard to man's brain is its growth. Since
it is contained in a bony box, which in the adult is firmly ossified
and incapable of expansion, it is obvious that the brain, too, must
cease growing when the bony box has closed in. In the apes this
occurs at an earlier age than in man. The brain-box has its sides
and roof constituted by a number of platelike pieces of bone, which
increase in area by addition to their margins, and finally meet each
other and grow into one another, forming an irregular notched line of
junction, which is called a "suture." The sutures themselves are often
obliterated by bony deposit in mature life. In man the bony plates of
the skull are separated by large membranous interspaces at birth--"the
fontanelles"--and by delay in the junction of the bony pieces the
expansion of the brain is permitted. About one-fourth of the cases
of idiocy reported upon by medical observers are accompanied by an
unusually small size of the brain-case (as small in some cases as 750
units), due to the premature closure of its bony walls at an unusually
early period of growth. It, indeed, seems (though this is a suggestion
rather than a demonstrated conclusion) that the increase of the size
of the brain in normal men, as compared with apes, and the consequent
development of increased mental capacity in man, may be directly set up
by a delay in the ossification of the walls of the brain-case in man,
as compared with his ape-like progenitors.

One of the most definite distinctions between present man and
the higher apes is the length of time during which the period of
growth--namely, "childhood"--and the subsequent adolescent stage of
development is prolonged. The chimpanzee "Sally" was full-grown and
adult at eight years of age. Savage races show maturity at an age which
seems to Europeans astonishing--sometimes as early as the eleventh
year. But even within the European area there is great variation
in this matter, the Southern people maturing more rapidly than the
Northern. There certainly is a tendency in modern civilization to
defer the recognition of emergence from childhood, though whether
the physical facts of growth and maturity of structure justify such
a delay is not obvious. The history of our schools and universities
and the records as to the age at which marriage takes place bear
evidence of this modern increase of the duration of adolescence. In
any case, whether the prolongation of the period of physical growth
and development is even now still being increased, it is certain that
the extension has taken place in former ages, and that the mental
development of man is directly related in the first place to this
increased period of growth, and in the second place to the prolongation
of the period of organized "education" directed by the elder
generation. The brain of the human child at four years of age may not
infrequently reach as much as 1300 units in volume--more than double
that of a full-grown gorilla--and it continues to increase in volume
for some eight years, though it is difficult to say precisely when the
interlocking of the bony pieces of the skull reaches a point when they
can no longer yield to the expansion of the brain. The increase of the
cavity of the skull practically ceases in childhood, and the increase
in the size of the head subsequently is due to the increased size of
muscles and fibrous structures on the outer surface of the brain-box.
True as it is that man's brain is much larger than that of the higher
apes, it is also true that the difference is far greater between the
higher apes and the lower monkeys both as to the size of the brain and
the complexity of the folds and furrows which mark the surface of the
cerebral hemispheres. In these respects, as in every other anatomical
feature, as was insisted by Huxley, there is less difference between
man and the higher apes than between the higher apes and the lower
monkeys, so that there is no pretext for placing man in a group apart
from the apes and monkeys or for suggesting the existence of any great
structural chasm between man and apes; on the contrary, their likeness
in all important details of structure is very close.

The comparison of the size of the brain in various cases which has just
been made is one of absolute size, leaving out of consideration the
size and weight of the body and limbs. Putting aside the exceptional
pygmy races of man (which there is no reason to regard as primitive),
the average adult man is larger and heavier than the chimpanzee, and
taller than, though not so powerful as, the orang. The gibbons are
quite small--rarely 3 feet in height--but the male gorilla is, when
adult, a much heavier animal than man, and often measures 5 feet 8
inches from the heel to the top of the head. Recently even larger
specimens have been measured, and 6 feet 6 inches is quoted (probably
an over-estimate) as the height attained by some specimens. This fact
removes any difficulty about comparing the absolute size of brain in
man and these apes. It also renders it unlikely that the primitive
ape-men or men-apes were smaller than modern men, whilst the large size
and weight of some of the earliest "shaped" flints (of Pliocene age)
attributed to primitive man, make it probable that the men who used
these flints were larger and more powerful, at any rate in the hands
and arms, than modern races of men. Size and strength are, then, not
points which offer any difficulty in the passage from ape to man.

What (it may well be asked) is the significance of man's greater brain?
What was the advantage to man's ape-like progenitors in an increased
volume of brain? It should be noted at once that the pattern of the
"convolutions" marked out on the surface of the brain by a great
series of winding "ditches" or "furrows" is based on one common plan
in the group of monkeys and man--a plan differing from that seen in
other groups which have a convoluted brain-surface--for instance from
that seen in the carnivora (dogs, bears, and cats) and again from
that seen in the ungulates (hoofed mammals). The convolutions of the
brain of the higher apes have been minutely compared with those of
man's brain. The two sets of convolutions agree very closely, but are
less extensive in the apes and certain small tracts of convolutions
present in man, are deficient in the apes, especially in the frontal
region and at the hinder or occipital region. We know very little of
the exact significance of each region of convolution in the brain.
The existence of convolutions separated by furrows clearly enough
increases the amount of surface of the brain, which consists of a
grey substance called "the cortex of the brain," and is known to be
a peculiar and specially active material. The mere comparison of the
size and height of the frontal region in different animals and in man
justifies the conclusion that an increase of this part of the brain
is more especially related to increased intelligence. Further, the
facts derived from observation of the consequences of disease or of
mechanical injury in man have led to the conclusion that the "faculty
of language" (the significant use of words, not the mere production
of them as sounds) is especially connected with one of the frontal
convolutions, which is feebly represented in the apes. The convolutions
of the brain of lower races of men have not been very fully studied,
but the brain of a Hottentot woman was long ago carefully described
and illustrated, showing less complexity of the convolutions than is
usual in European man, and making a distinct approach in this respect
to the apes; but still possessing in fair proportion the convolutions
characteristic of the human brain.

Abundance of convolutions and their increase at this or that part of
the brain must, it is obvious, increase the active brain substance.
But there is some evidence of a special kind as to the significance
of increased bulk of the entire brain, apart from the folding of its
surface. This is afforded by the brain cavities of the skulls observed
in the series of vertebrate animals. The older groups--those "lower,"
that is farthest removed from man and the animals most like him--have
in proportion to the bulk of their bodies much smaller brains than
the later-developed groups. Thus fishes have smaller brains than
reptiles, and these have much smaller brains than mammals. A cod-fish
has in proportion to its bulk of living material a smaller brain than
a crocodile or a turtle, and these have a much smaller brain than a
pig. Not only so, but earlier kinds of mammals than the pig have a
smaller brain proportionately than that animal has, and pigs have a
smaller brain in proportion to their bulk than monkeys, and monkeys
(as we have seen) a smaller brain than man. This increase of size is,
in general, proportionate to an increase in the variety and complexity
of the control of the movements of the body and their relation to the
activities of the great organs of sense, such as the eyes, and the
organs of smell and hearing.

But there is something more involved in the increase of the brain
than this. We now know that the brain of very many kinds of animals
has been increasing in size in the later geological periods. Huge
reptiles as big as elephants existed on the land surface of the
globe before the hairy, warm-blooded mammals which now dominate the
situation had developed in number or in size--namely, in the period of
and before the chalk which geologists call the Mesozoic or secondary
period, to distinguish it both from the tertiary period, when mammals
were abundant and large, and from the Palæozoic or primary period,
at the end of which terrestrial vertebrates first began to make
their appearance. These huge reptiles--such as the Iguanodon, the
Triceratops, and the Diplodocus (all to be seen in skeleton, though
not in the flesh, at the Natural History Museum)--had brains of an
incredibly small size, much smaller in proportion to their bulk than
those of living reptiles, such as lizards and crocodiles. The same
extraordinary difference of size of brain is seen when we compare the
large living mammals with their equally large extinct forerunners in
the early tertiary strata. The skulls and whole skeletons of great
rhinoceros-like animals--some of them ancestrally related to our living
rhinoceroses--are dug up in early tertiary sands and clays, which have
absurdly small brains. We can take a mould of the interior of the brain
cases of these extinct animals and compare them with that of the recent
rhinoceros. We find that the extinct animal's brain was in many cases
only one-eighth the bulk of that of its modern representative!

The same disproportion in the size of the more ancient animal's brain
is found when we compare the brain of the modern horse with that of
its early tertiary ancestors. The modern animal has, as a rule, a
very greatly increased size of brain when compared with its Miocene
forefather. In fact, it seems that the brain has had, as it were, an
independent development in several lines of descent, and whilst the
rest of the structure of the ancestral form has been only slightly
modified in its proportions, the brain cavity and the brain within it
has enormously increased. It is therefore not so exceptional a thing
as it at first appears--but only an instance of a change more or less
widely exhibited among later animals, as compared with their near
relatives in the past--when we establish the fact that the brain of
the man-like apes is much bigger than that of lower monkeys, and that
the brain of man, who is so closely similar in all structural details
to those apes, has attained to a bulk three times that of the ape. The
vast increase in the size of the brain in recent animals, as compared
with their closely related representatives of an earlier period, is a
frequent and regular thing. It is possible to make a suggestion, of
some plausibility, as to the meaning and value of this increased size
of brain, which will be found in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE MIND OF APES AND OF MAN

JUST as man's brain is enormously larger than that of the ordinary
monkeys, although his general make and anatomy is closely similar
to theirs, so we find that the rhinoceros has an enormous brain as
compared with extinct rhinoceros-like animals, the predecessors and
ancestors of those now living. The extinct Titanotherium of the lower
Miocene period managed to carry on its life in an efficient way and
to hold its own for a considerable period with a brain which was only
one-eighth the bulk of that of a modern rhinoceros, as did other
animals in the past with even greater bodies and smaller brains. To get
some suggestion as to the significance of this fact we must, in however
incomplete a way, distinguish some of the main features of the mental
processes which go on in man and animals and have their "seat" in the
brain.

Descartes and other philosophers have held that there is a great
difference in the mental processes of animals as compared with those of
man in this, namely, that man is "conscious," that is to say, conscious
of himself as "I," and, as it were, looks on at himself acting on and
being acted on by surrounding existences, whilst (so it is assumed)
animals have not this consciousness, but are "automata," going through
all the processes of life, and even behaving more or less as man does
in similar circumstances, yet without being "conscious." It is, no
doubt, true that many of the complicated actions of insects are carried
on without consciousness of the purpose or significance of what they
are doing. Such is the storing by certain wasps of smaller insects
in carefully-cut chambers, to serve as food for the wasp's young, to
be hatched from an egg to be laid in the "cold-storage chamber." The
mother wasp will go on doing this when she has had the hind part of
her body removed and has no eggs to lay. This mechanical unreasoning
behaviour in insects is without exception, so that we must accept M.
Fabre's conclusion that they are, in fact, unconscious "automata." I
have already referred to this subject in an earlier chapter, p. 197.

We at once place ourselves in difficulty in discussing this subject
by the use of the words "conscious" and "consciousness," for, as
so often happens, they are customarily applied in a vague and
uncertain way to the mental activities of man--without any precise
agreement as to what is meant by either of them. We are all agreed
that a rational human being may go through a series of elaborate
actions apparently directed by purpose and yet not be what we call
"conscious," that is to say, "aware" of what he is doing. This occurs
in "sleep-walking" and in "day-dreaming." And again, we know that a
man may be evidently conscious during a certain period, and yet forget
directly afterwards that he has been conscious and said and done
certain things during that period. This often happens after "concussion
of the brain." It is, as a matter of fact, uncertain whether one
ought to regard the condition of a man during that obliterated or
forgotten period of seeming consciousness as rightly to be described
by the term "conscious." And the reason why one has this doubt is
that we all recognize that consciousness without memory is really
a contradiction in terms. Memory--the inscription or record in our
brains of past experiences--exists without consciousness, as we all
know, by observation of ourselves and our fellows. But the very
essence of consciousness is memory. We cannot even be "conscious" of
the experience of a single moment without being also conscious of
the memory of some previous condition--however small, temporary, and
incomplete the memory may be. To be conscious we must _compare_ the
impressions reaching the brain at this moment with the memory of those
of a past moment. And in lower animals and infants beginning to be
conscious, the "recollections" available or accessible to consciousness
may not extend farther back than a few seconds! If the memory of past
experiences of which we are aware, that is to say, which are accessible
to consciousness, is large and extends over the impressions of days,
weeks, and years, then the conscious man or animal is in a totally
different position from that of the man or animal who has only a very
short and vague memory of which he or it is conscious. Thus it may be
true that an animal or an infant is "conscious" and is comparing the
present with the recollection of the past, and yet that the basis of
comparison--the reach of memory accessible to consciousness--is so
small as to be of little or no significance. Yet it is the beginning
of a process which, gradually enlarging the access of consciousness to
"memory," passes through a thousand degrees of increasing grasp and
complexity (due to increased complexity in the microscopic connexions
of the structural units, the branching nerve-corpuscles, which build up
the brain) until it gives us the "consciousness" of a Shakespeare, a
Newton, or a Darwin. The important fact in this consideration of what
we mean by "conscious" and "consciousness" is, that memory is always
for most lower animals, and during a period of growth in man, untouched
by consciousness, and much of it remains so in all of us. As the dawn
lights up a distant peak and then another and then a whole range and
spreads to valley and plain, giving greater detail and variety as the
moments pass--so does consciousness slowly invade in the course of
development, whether of the individual or the species, the territory
of memory. In the most man-like animals and the more ape-like men the
process has not gone very far. In the highest apes consciousness is
so limited in its access to memory that it is but a glimmer, a mere
rudiment, of what it becomes in the modern races of mankind. We must
not overlook the fact that it is only when we have to deal with men far
advanced from the state of primeval savagery that the memory itself
becomes rich and varied. Observation, memory, and record--the vast
tradition of taboo, knowledge, custom, law, and religion not inborn in
our structure but handed on by spoken or written word--are developed
and increased by the very fact that the daylight of consciousness has
reached the memory of them when less copious than they become in later
development, and has given them life-saving value.

There is no reason to doubt that consciousness--a beginning of
it--exists in such animals as dogs and monkeys. And it is equally true
that man not only exists for some months after he is born without being
"conscious," but for some years is so only in disconnected intervals.
As a matter of fact, he is very incompletely "conscious," even when
adult. He is quite unconscious of a great many of his elaborate
actions. He has, moreover, an "unconscious memory"--that is to say, a
memory of the existence of which he is not conscious--which guides
him to, and in, the most complicated proceedings, and astonishes
him when, by some chance, it is suddenly revealed to consciousness,
or is converted into "conscious memory," when he dreams. Every man
finds, sooner or later, that he has stored within him a register of
things, persons, and events of the existence of which he was totally
unaware. The gradual development of "consciousness" in higher ape-like
animals and lower men, in the course of ages, is not the unparalleled
thing which one is apt, at times, to consider it to be, since we can
all remember the dawning of our own consciousness and its gradual
development. We can also watch its growth in that most mysterious and
wonderful casket of ancestral secrets and unfathomable destiny--a human
infant.

Inscrutable as is the ultimate nature of "consciousness," we may put
its further consideration aside on the present occasion, since it
forms no actual barrier between men-like apes and ape-like men. On
the contrary, the higher apes, the lower living races of men and the
children of higher races, furnish us with evidence of transition from
the lower condition of automatism to the higher one of self-recognition
or consciousness in its most developed form. There is, however, a
leading difference in the mental organization and mental processes
of various animals, including man, which is of more importance in
the matter which we are considering, and is largely related to the
physical measurable difference in the size of the brain. The insects
of which Fabre says: "They know nothing about anything," inherit a
nervous mechanism--a brain and elongated mass of nerve-cells and
fibres, like our spinal cord--which works sharply and definitely like
a toy-automaton. Touch this part and that movement follows; excite the
sense of vision with this visible thing, and such and such a movement
of the limbs or jaws or other parts ensues. The stimulation of skin,
eye, ear, or nose conveys a "message" by nerves to the "brain," or
centre, and immediately by other nerves an "answer" is conveyed from
the brain or centre in the shape of an order to this and those muscles
to contract, the appropriate nerves being set at work and exciting the
related muscles to contraction. The number of possible excitations and
related responsive movements thus arranged is numerically very great
in many animals, but they are limited. They are inherited just as they
are, and come into action as soon as the necessary growth of the parts
involved is attained, without hesitation or tentative trial. They are
ready made. The terms "instinct" and "instinctive" should be limited to
the action of this inherited apparatus or mechanism.

All animals, including man, have more or less of such an inherited
instinctive nervous apparatus. Man, or for the matter of that an
animal, may be "conscious" (in the sense of being "aware") of the
stimulus given to this inherited apparatus, and of its related action,
or he may be "unconscious" of either. The point is that we have here
the "working" of an apparatus inherited in a complete working state;
it is, therefore, what we call instinctive. On the other hand, there
are in higher animals, and especially in man, a vast number of actions
performed which are not the outcome of an inborn ready-made nervous
mechanism. On the contrary, these actions are determined by a mechanism
built up in the animal during its individual existence--a mechanism
which is formed by its individual experience acting on its nerve-cells,
and is the outcome of observation, comparison, and, more or less, of
processes which we call judgment and reasoning. The persistence of
this mechanism built up by the individual, as well as its continuous
elaboration and development, is what we call "memory," unconscious or
conscious. It is misleading to speak of "inherited memory" or "race
memory," and to apply it in any way to the inherited mechanisms of
instinct; the word should be reserved in its ordinary limitation to
an individual's record. This new and superior apparatus appears to
require a much larger bulk of brain-substance for its elaboration than
that which is sufficient for the inherited mechanisms of instinct. It
works in closer response to the innumerable details of the individual
case, and so must be much more complicated, and we can well believe
must require a larger instrument. Obviously it is an advantage to its
possessor. He (be he animal or man) is provided not with a simple
response suitable for the average of incidents in his life, but has,
by the "education" due to the circumstances in which his individual
life is carried on, formed an ever-increasing store of special little
mechanisms, giving the useful or advantageous response which he has
himself discovered to be appropriate to this or that sign, sound,
colour, shape, smell, touch, or what not which may assail his senses.
In proportion as the brain increases in volume (especially that part
of it which is called "the cortex of the hemispheres") the animal to
which that brain belongs loses--gets rid of--inherited mechanisms
or instincts, and becomes "educable," that is to say, capable of
forming for itself new individual brain mechanisms based on memorized
experience.

"Educability" is the quality which distinguishes the brain of increased
size. Dogs are more "educable" than rabbits; monkeys more so than dogs;
and men more so--vastly more so--than monkeys and apes. The human
infant is born with a few inherited mechanisms of "instinct," such
as that which causes it to find its mother's nipple and to suck it,
and to cling and support its own weight as no full-grown child can do.
It is singularly free from any large number of inherited "instincts,"
and, to its own great advantage, has, during the many years in which it
is protected by its parents, to learn everything and to construct new
brain mechanisms--the results of "education" of the individual. We here
use the word "education" in its proper and widest sense.

Thus we get an indication of "the reason why" the modern rhinoceros
has a brain eight times as big as the titanotherium's. It is more
"educable." The ancestors of our modern armour-plated friend have
been surviving and beating their less "educable" brothers and sisters
and cousins through a vast geological lapse of time; and the brains
of the survivors have always been bigger, and they have become more
educable and more educated until the race has culminated in those
models of "sweet reasonableness," the modern rhinoceroses! It must be
confessed that this character attributed to the rhinoceros is a matter
of inference and not of direct observation of that animal when under
his native sky. We do not judge the survivor of a fine early Miocene
family by the fury and annoyance he shows when shot at, nor by the
stolid contempt with which he treats mankind at the Zoo. The same
signification--"educability"--attaches to the large brain of the higher
apes; and man's still larger brain means still greater educability and
resulting reasonableness.

In order that natural selection and the survival of the fittest should
have led to this increased size and accompanying educability of the
brain, it is necessary to suppose that the individuals with the
more educable brain as they appeared profited by it, that is to say,
did become more educated, and so defeated their rivals, and survived
and transmitted their increased size of brain little by little in
succeeding generations. There is no difficulty about admitting this
supposition in regard to the passage from higher ape-like creatures
to later forms having a full-sized brain, such as we find in the
Neanderthal man and in some Australians. But we are met here by what
looks, at first sight, as a fact inconsistent with our view. The
obvious increased educability and consequent increased education
of lower races of man by the circumstances of their lives, places
them clearly enough in a position of great advantage over the higher
surviving apes. But when we compare the actual mental accomplishments
of the highest civilized races of man with those of big-brained
savages, we find that a large proportion of individuals in the
civilized races are much farther ahead of the lower savage races than
most of these are ahead of the higher apes. Newton, Shakespeare, and
Darwin are in mental accomplishment farther away from an Australian
black, or even a Congo negro, than these "savages" are from a gorilla
or a chimpanzee. Yet the difference when we compare the size and the
abundance of the convolutions of the brain of the European philosopher
and the black-fellow does not seem, superficially, to be proportionate
to the difference in the mental performance of the two. No minute study
of the microscopic differences in the structure of the two brains
has, as yet, been made, and it is probable that there is a greater
difference here than in the mere shape of the brain-mass. It seems
that the "educability" of the brain measured by its size is little
greater in the one group of men than in the other. And it is found--so
far as observation and experiment have been carried--that individual
savages belonging to races showing very low mental accomplishments in
their native surroundings are yet capable of being "educated" to a far
higher level of mental performance, when removed in early youth from
their natural conditions and subjected to the same conditions as the
better-cared-for children of a civilized race, than any of them ever
reach in their own communities.

Very few really satisfactory experiments have been made in this
direction, but the history of the negroes in America shows that the
pure, unmixed negro brain is capable of showing high mathematical
power, musical gifts of the best, and moral and philosophic activities
equal to those of the best, or all but the exceptionally gifted,
individuals of European race. It seems that the large educable brain
gained by man in a relatively early period of his development from
the ape has now entered on a new phase of importance. The pressure
of natural selection no longer favours an increased educability (and
therefore size) of brain, but the later progress of man has depended
on the actual administration by each generation to its successors of
an increasingly systematized exercise of that brain; in short, it has
depended on education itself, and on the gigantic new possibilities
of education, which have followed from the development, first, of
language, then of writing, and lastly of printing, together with
the accompanying growth and development of social organization, the
inter-communication of all races, and the carrying on, by means of the
Great Record--the written and printed documents of humanity--of the
experience and knowledge of each passing generation of men from them to
the men of the present moment.

Huxley agreed with Cuvier in the opinion that the possession of
articulate speech is the grand distinctive character of man. It was
no sudden acquirement, but was slowly, step by step, evolved from
the significant grunts and cries of apes in the course of long ages,
and corresponded in its progress with a parallel progress in mental
capacities. Once attained, it led to the formation of vast educative
products, namely, to oral tradition, to written and then to printed
memorials and records. It is not desirable in our present state of
knowledge to speculate as to whether the transitional ape-man acquired
the use of fire before or after he had invented articulate speech.
It probably was acquired very soon after some skill in the flaking
of flints had been attained, and was of immense value, both as a
defence against predatory animals and as a means of preparing food.
Man probably learnt at a very early period to cover himself with
clothing made from the skins of other animals, and thus to tolerate
cold climates. The use of clothing was correlated with the diminution
of his natural hairy covering. As to the circumstances which led to
the reduction in size of his canine teeth and the diminution of the
projection of his jaws, it is impossible to say more than that this
was favoured by the increased skill of his hand and by the use of
weapons, and probably was directly correlated with an increased growth
of the brain. It is an interesting fact that very young children still
exhibit the ancestral tendency to bite when angry, and that the use of
the teeth as weapons of attack is more frequent among lower races with
"prognathous" jaws than among Europeans.

A definite habit of the human infant, that of "crying"--the peculiar
spasmodic howling of very young children--seems to be unknown in
any of the apes. I do not know what ingenious reason may have been
assigned for this difference. Apes laugh under the same circumstances
as do men, but with less production of sound than is the case with
man and the hyena. Man was, far back in his monkey-days, a social
and companion-loving animal, and the fact that his laughing and his
weeping are accompanied by noise is due to the desire for attention
and sympathy from his friends. A great difference between man and apes
is the greater power of expression of various feelings or emotions by
the face, and also the greater variety and significance in man of the
gestures both of the upper and the lower limbs. These again are methods
of seeking for and gaining sympathy and co-operation. Though not all
men and not all races in an equal degree have mobility and constantly
varying expression in the face, yet it is the fact that the man-like
apes which have been studied in life (the chimpanzee and orang) have
even less variety and range of expression than the most unintelligent
savages. Man seems to have developed in an ever-increasing degree
the habit of watching and interpreting the face and of giving by it
expression to his emotions and states of mind, thus establishing
a ready means of producing common feeling and interest in a group
of associated individuals. This seems to have led to a special
appreciation of the features of the face, and so to the exercise of
sexual selection, resulting in what we call "a standard of beauty" in
regard to both shape and expression. It is quite possible that the
reduction of the threatening canine teeth and projecting jaw may have
been furthered by sexual selection when once a bite had become less
effective than a blow with a sharp flint, and when persuasive sounds
and gestures gained more adherents than the display of tusks by a snarl.

What I have written in this and the preceding chapters, on the
differences and likenesses between apes and man and the probable steps
of the transition from ape to man, may assist the reader to form a
judgment as to the importance of such remains of extinct races of men
as the skeleton of the Sainte Chapelle, the Heidelberg jaw, and the
Piltdown jaw and cranium lately dug up in Sussex, in helping us to
further knowledge of those steps. It should be definitely noted that
we have not yet found any extinct animals, definitely to be classed
as apes, which come nearer to man than the chimpanzee and gorilla,
although we are led to infer that such creatures existed, and that
their fossil remains will probably some day be discovered. On the other
hand, we have in the jaw and skull recently discovered in the gravel of
Piltdown, in Sussex, evidence of a man-like creature which was in most
important features more ape-like than any fossil man yet discovered.

CHAPTER XXX

THE MISSING LINK

UNTIL the discovery of the wonderful fossil jaw in the gravel of
Piltdown, near Lewes in Sussex, a favourite view as to the probable
relationship of man and existing apes was, that if you could trace back
the pedigree of man and of the chimpanzee into remote antiquity far
back in the Tertiary period--probably in the early Miocene--you would
arrive at a smallish creature with, proportionately to its size, larger
jaws and teeth than any modern man, yet smaller than those of the
living man-like apes, and with a brain not two-thirds the size of that
of the least developed of modern savages, yet larger (in proportion
to its general bulk) than that of the gorilla, chimpanzee, orang, and
gibbons. This hypothetical creature would represent, it was held, the
common ancestor of the two great "strains" or "stocks" one of which in
the course of gradual modification gave rise to our living "humanity,"
and various non-surviving offshoots on the way; whilst the other gave
rise to the company of great apes, with their tremendous jaws and
dog-teeth, their small brains, and great bony skull-crests for the
attachment of huge jaw muscles.

It was insisted that the obvious and immediate suggestion when once
man's descent from animal ancestry was admitted, namely, that man has
taken his rise from the most man-like animals we know--the great
apes--is erroneous. The public was warned that they must not jump to
such a conclusion; it was too obvious, too facile. The "celebrated
ape of the Darwin shape," which popular songs made familiar to a wide
public, was declared to be only a remote rustic, not to say brutalized,
cousin of humanity, not in the direct line happily! Our real ancestors,
it was declared, were mild, intelligent little creatures, animals, it
is true, but animals which hastened to separate their mixed qualities
in two divergent lines of descent--(1) the intelligent, mild-mannered
clan who ceased to climb trees, and walked uprightly on the soles of
their feet, whilst their teeth grew smaller and smaller, and their
brains grew bigger and bigger; and (2) the violent tree-climbing
members of the family, who refused to stand up, and acquired bigger and
bigger jaws and teeth, whilst their brains remained small, their temper
morose, and their conduct violent.

[Illustration: FIG. 23.--Comparison of the right half of the lower jaw
of A, Modern European; B, Eoanthropus from Piltdown; and C, Chimpanzee.
The size of the drawings is two-thirds of the linear dimensions of the
actual specimens. The dotted outline in B represents the part which was
wanting in the original specimen and was thus re-constructed by Dr.
Smith Woodward. _X_ in A is the bony chin or "mental protuberance"; in
B and C it marks that part of the jaw which would become the mental
protuberance were the palisade or line of teeth retracted as in A.]

Old writers before the days of Darwin had talked and written about
the "missing link," though I cannot say who first used the term in
reference to a creature intermediate between man and apes. Sir Charles
Lyell in 1851 made use of the term in regard to extinct animals which
were intermediate in structure between two existing types. A learned
and able writer--the Scotch judge, Lord Monboddo--in the later half
of the eighteenth century put forward a theory of the development of
mankind from apes such as the orang, quite independently of any general
theory of "transformism" or of the progressive development of the
animal and vegetable worlds, from simple beginnings. Lord Monboddo,
in the absence of any knowledge of a "missing link," or of animals
intermediate between man and the highest living apes, made reasonable
speculations (based on wide study of anthropology and ancient
philosophy) as to the passage from the monkey to man. He regarded man
as of the same "species" as the orang-utan. He traced the gradual
elevation of man to the social state as a natural process determined
by "the necessities of human life." He looked on language (which he
said is not "natural" to man in the sense of being necessary to his
self-preservation) as a consequence of his social state. His views
about the origin of society and language, and the faculties by which
man is distinguished from the brutes, are in some interesting ways
similar to those of Darwin. He conceived man as gradually elevating
himself from an animal condition in which his mind is immersed in
matter to a state in which mind acts independent of body. He was
ridiculed and declared to be half mad by his co-temporaries (among them
Samuel Johnson), although he was, philosophically, far in advance of
those with whom he came into contact. Darwin's views on the "Descent of
Man" were met in the same contemptuous spirit at first. But he held a
much stronger position than Monboddo, having first of all established
the general theory of organic evolution, and having, further, a
well-established mass of evidence at his command in regard to the
relationship of man and apes. Further, he had that wonderful champion,
Huxley, to fight for him. Huxley's book, "Man's Place in Nature,"
originally given as lectures which I, then a boy, attended, placed the
evidence of the close relationship of man and the higher apes in the
clearest way before the public, and, indeed, established the identity
of the structure of man with that of the ape, bone for bone, muscle for
muscle, and nerve for nerve.

Still, there was always a gap--a place unfilled--between the
large-brained, small-jawed man and the small-brained, large-jawed ape.
The link was missing. It was hoped, when in 1859 the human workmanship
of the flint axes found with the bones of extinct animals in our
river gravels was recognized, that the bones of the men who made the
flint axes would turn up alongside of them, and that they would show
characters intermediate between those of modern man and the great apes.
But no such human bones ever were found in the older gravels deposited
as terraces along their beds by the rivers of Western Europe. Human
bones, and more or less complete human skulls, of a highly-developed
modern type (the Cromagnards) were found in caves associated with flint
tools of a different character to those common in river gravels. Then
we heard a good deal about the strangely flat skull-top, or calvaria,
found in a cave near Dusseldorf on the Rhine, associated with the
preaching of a certain hermit named "Neuman" (= Neander). The valley
was called "the Neanderthal," and the skull-top thus came to be called
the "Neanderthal skull." Some authorities regarded the Neanderthal
skull as that of an outcast idiot! Huxley studied it minutely, and
compared it to that of Southern Australian black-fellows, and held that
it took us no nearer to the apes than they did. Then an unsatisfactory
small flat skull-top, together with a long, straight thigh-bone, was
found in a gravel in Java, and the name "Pithecanthropus" was applied
to these remains. Still we had got no nearer to any knowledge of the
missing link.

Of late years we have, however, learnt a great deal more about the
race or species of men of which the Neanderthal skull-top was the
first indication. We now know that this species of man belonged to a
period older than that of the other prehistoric cavemen--the artistic
Magdalenians and the bushman-like Aurignacians, which are races of
Homo sapiens, not distinct species. The older period is called the
Moustierian, or Middle Paleolithic, period, and is marked by a peculiar
type of flint implement. It is later than the older river gravels,
in which big tongue-shaped and almond-shaped flint implements are
common. The two skulls and bones from the cave of Spey, in Belgium, the
Gibraltar skull, and the skeletons and skulls of the cavern called the
Chapelle aux Saints in the Corrèze (Central France), and of Ferassy,
and some neighbouring localities, all belong to this Moustierian age
(so named after the village "Le Moustier," in Perigord), and to the
peculiar species Homo Neanderthalensis.[10] It is also necessary to
include here the more ancient man indicated by the important lower jaw
found by Schottensack near Heidelberg (see Fig. 25). The Neanderman or
Neanderthal-man had a low forehead, with overhanging bony brow-ridges,
and a depressed, flattened brain-case, which, nevertheless, was very
long and broad and held an unusually large brain, measuring 1600 cubic
centimetres, whereas the modern European averages 1450 only of such
units. He had a powerful lower jaw, with a broad, upstanding piece
or vertical "ramus," and no chin protuberance. Yet his teeth were
identical with those of a modern man. His thigh-bones were much curved,
and his arms a good deal longer in proportion to his legs than those
of a modern man. He did not carry himself upright, but with a forward
stoop.

[10] For figures of the skulls and flint implements of these ancient
men, see my volume, "Science from an Easy Chair," First Series.
Methuen, 1910.

Now that we know more of him, we may ask, "Does this Neanderthal or
Moustierian man fill the place of the missing link?" It appears that
he does not. He seems to have died out without leaving any descendants.
In so far as that his bony jaw sloped directly downwards and backwards
from the margin of the sockets of his front teeth, as in the apes,
without projecting below, to form a chin protuberance--as it does in
all races of Homo sapiens, on account of the shrinking inwards of
the gum-line or palisade of front teeth (incisors and canines)--the
Neanderman offers a certain approach to the condition of the apes; but
in other details of shape of the lower jaw, and especially in regard to
the narrowness of the lower surface of the chin and the large and deep
attachments on its inner face, for the digastric muscle and certain
muscles of the tongue, the bony remains of the Neanderman show that
he is distinctly and altogether human, and not like the higher apes.
Moreover, in the very large size of his brain (as much as 1600 units)
the Neanderman shows no approach to the relatively small brain of the
higher apes (which measures 500 units, possibly 800 by exception).
There is in these structures some argument for the conclusion that
the Neanderman could use articulate language, and inasmuch as the
climate in which he flourished was extremely cold, there is ground for
supposing that he could produce fire and clothe himself with skins. The
flint implements which are definitely associated with him are of more
skilful workmanship than the earlier, more elaborate, but less cleverly
conceived, Chellean and Acheuillian implements. We cannot refuse
to call him "man"--not Homo sapiens, we agree--but of the "genus"
Homo--Homo Neanderthalensis.

[Illustration: FIG. 24.--Diagrams of the lower surface of the
lower jaw of A, man; B, the Eoanthropus of Piltdown (the left half
reconstructed); and C, the Chimpanzee.

The jaws are supposed to be immersed in sand, so as to conceal all but
the lower surface. The narrowness of the actual inferior margin of the
jaw in man, A, a, b, contrasts with the breadth and flatness of this
same border in Eoanthropus, B, a, b, and the Chimpanzee, C, a, b.

In the human jaw A we see behind the narrow front border _a_ the large
semicircular excavations for the attachment of the digastric muscles
right and left. They pass from here to the hyoid bone. From the spine
(double in origin) between the two digastric impressions passes a pair
of muscular slips, called the genio-hyoid muscles, also to the hyoid
bone, and from the pair of spines marked _y_ a pair of muscles, called
the genio-glossals, pass to the tongue. These inferior and superior
mental spines and the digastric impressions, much smaller in size than
in man, are seen in the chimpanzee's jaw, C, but are rubbed or partly
broken and partly rubbed away in the Piltdown half-jaw, B. In the
figures A and C the size of the digastric impressions and mental spines
is exaggerated, but their relatively much greater size in man than in
the chimpanzee is correctly given, and this greater size is connected
with the greater control of the tongue and the floor of the mouth in
man, possibly connected with speech.

_Reference Letters._--a, Broad, upwardly and forwardly sloping surface,
reduced in man; b, lower border of the jaw-bone; x, front margin of the
digastric "impression" of the right side. Dig, digastric impression;
y, superior mental spine of the left side; Fr., fractured edge of the
Piltdown jaw, and corresponding region in that of the chimpanzee.]

So long as the Neanderman was the sole indication of a creature nearer
in some features to the apes than are any living or extinct races of
the species Homo sapiens, the view was possible that the two stocks
which to-day blossom and display themselves--the one as the human
race, the other as the man-like apes (gorilla, chimpanzee, orang, and
gibbons), became separated from one another in long past geologic ages,
and that they have undergone each an independent development from a
creature so unlike both as seen to-day, that we cannot speak of it
as a missing link or a link at all. That view must be considerably
modified by the discovery of the Piltdown jaw--the jaw of Eoanthropus
Dawsoni--which is not that of a "man," that is not of the genus
Homo, but must, in my judgment, be considered as one of the family
Hominidæ--a Hominid, as we may say--a species assigned to a new
genus Eoanthropus by Smith Woodward, which is grouped with the genus
Homo and the ill-defined genus Pithecanthropus, to form the family
Hominidæ; just as the genera Gorilla, Anthropopithecus (chimpanzee),
Simia (orang), and Hylobates (gibbon) are grouped together to form
the family Simiidæ. In Eoanthropus we have in our hands, at last, the
much-talked-of "missing link"--the link obviously connecting man, the
genus Homo, with the apes.

The immense importance of the discovery of the jaw of Eoanthropus by
Mr. Dawson, and of the clear perception of its distinctive features
by Dr. Smith Woodward, is not, as yet, sufficiently recognized. The
Piltdown jaw is the most startling and significant fossil bone that
has ever been brought to light. The Neandermen and the Java skull-top
are simply commonplace and insignificant in comparison with it. "What
leads you to say that?" I may be asked. I say so because this jaw and
the incomplete skull found with it (Fig. 29) really and in simple fact
furnish a link--a form intermediate between the man and the ape. Some
fragments of the brain-case were found close to the jaw, indicating
a fairly round, very thick-walled brain-case, holding a brain of
about 1100 units capacity--very small for a man, very large for an
ape. It is in the highest degree probable that the brain-case and the
jaw belong to the same individual. If we were to put the brain-case
aside as not certainly belonging to the same individual, we should
guess that the owner of the jaw might have had a brain of about this
size--intermediate between that of the larger apes and the living races
of men.[11]

[11] The recent discovery by Mr. Dawson of fragments of a second skull
of the same character as the first and at the same spot justifies a
certain amount of hesitation in concluding that the lower jaw and the
fragments of the first found skull belong to one individual.

[Illustration: FIG. 25.--The Piltdown Jaw (shaded) and the Heidelberg
Jaw (outline only) super-imposed and compared by placing the first and
second molar teeth (1 and 2) of the two specimens in exact coincidence
on the horizontal line A, B. The linear dimensions of the drawings
are reduced to two-thirds of those of the specimens. It is obvious
that when the front bony part of the Piltdown jaw is completed with an
outline like that of the Heidelberg and Neander jaws, as shown by the
dotted line _m_, the space between its molars and the sockets of its
front teeth cannot be filled by teeth of the normal human dimensions,
as it is in the Heidelberg jaw. As the figure shows, they would stop
short half an inch from the front of the jaw. Hence Dr. Smith Woodward
inferred that larger teeth like those of a chimpanzee were present in
this region in the Piltdown jaw (Eoanthropus).]

The astonishing thing about this half-jaw from Piltdown is that it is
definitely and obviously more like that of a chimpanzee--especially
a young chimpanzee--than it is like that of a man (see Fig. 23, A,
B, and C and their explanation). If it had been found under other
circumstances it might quite well have been described as the jaw of a
simiid--a large ape allied to the chimpanzee--with some unimportant
resemblance to a human one. The front part of the bony jaw of Piltdown,
instead of forming a narrow ridge below the protruding bony chin as in
man, is wide and flat; there is no protruding chin. This very important
fact is shown in our Fig. 24, in which the lower margin of the lower
jaw of modern man, of the chimpanzee and of the Piltdown specimen are
compared. The jaw ended in front in a wall of bone sloping forward
and upward continuously from the flat and broad lower surface of the
jaw. In this the great incisor teeth were set, as in all Simiids. In
man, on the contrary, the front group of teeth is much smaller than in
the apes, and the semicircle formed by the line of the gums is much
smaller than the semicircular lower margin of the jaw. The semicircle
of teeth in man retreats (as it were) behind the front part of the
bony jaw which is left projecting far in advance of the line of teeth,
forming the "chin" or "chin protuberance." The Piltdown jaw when found
had only two of the cheek-teeth in place, as shown in Fig. 25. They
were certainly very human in pattern and in the smoothness of their
worn surfaces. But it was found impossible to fill the front part
of the bony jaw with the missing teeth if they also were fashioned
according to human pattern. They would in that case only reach along
the jaw to a distance of an inch and three-fifths from the first molar
tooth, whereas to fill the space from that tooth up to the front end
of the bone in which the teeth are socketed they must be big enough
to occupy a length of two inches and two-fifths (consult Fig. 25 and
its explanation). Dr. Smith Woodward did not hesitate, in view of the
shape of the jaw so closely like that of a chimpanzee, to postulate the
former existence in it of big front teeth--canines and incisors--like
those of a chimpanzee, and unlike those of man, although there was
no trace of them left in the specimen. He restored the jaw, giving
it very much the shape and the teeth of a chimpanzee's jaw (Fig. 23,
B). That this was a correct interpretation was proved a year later,
in a startling, almost romantic way, by the discovery by Mr. Dawson
and a young French naturalist who were resifting and searching the
gravel at the exact spot where the jaw was found, of one of the great
canine teeth, twice as big as that of any man and resembling that of
a chimpanzee (see Fig. 26 and its explanation). There was a good deal
of hesitation about the admission of the correctness of Dr. Smith
Woodward's presentation of the jaw of Eoanthropus, with so close a
resemblance to that of a chimpanzee. But the careful consideration
of the specimen, and above all the welcome discovery of the great
ape-like canine, has now convinced every anatomist of the truth of Dr.
Woodward's restoration. The jaw itself and the recovered canine tooth,
as well as the completely restored model of the two sides of the lower
jaw and of the brain-case, may now be seen and studied by visitors to
the Natural History Museum. They are placed in the Geological Gallery.
I have visited with Mr. Dawson the gravel at Piltdown where the jaw
and skull were found, and have picked up there humanly worked flints
of very primitive workmanship. I have also followed with Dr. Smith
Woodward the development and confirmation of his interpretation of the
jaw.

[Illustration: FIG. 26.--The canine tooth of the right side of the
lower jaw of Eoanthropus Dawsoni, found at Piltdown a year after the
discovery and description of the lower jaw, to which it belongs. Drawn
of the natural size. To the left a back view, to the right a side view,
showing the wearing away of the surface of the tooth.]

[Illustration: FIG. 27.--Canine tooth of the right side of the lower
jaw of a European child, milk dentition. This "first" tooth is drawn
of twice its actual length and breadth, which brings it very nearly to
the same size as the canine of Eoanthropus. It is more closely similar
in shape to the canine of the Piltdown jaw than is the canine of the
second or permanent dentition of modern man.]

[Illustration: FIG. 28.--The Piltdown Jaw (Eoanthropus) with dotted
lines showing the parts as now "re-constructed" or "imagined" by Dr.
Smith Woodward, together with the late-found or recovered canine in its
natural position.]

I now desire to insist upon the legitimate conclusion to be drawn
from this wonderful specimen. That conclusion is that the creature,
indicated by it, is not (or was not when it was alive) an eccentric
cousin either of the Simiid or of the Hominid stock, but represents
a real "missing link," an animal intermediate in great and obvious
features between the two stocks, and either to be described as an ape
which had become man-like or as a man who still retained characteristic
ape-like features--a truly connecting or linking form. Nothing like it,
nothing occupying such a position, has hitherto been discovered. It
brings the focus of interest in the knowledge of primitive man away
from the caves of France to the thin patch of iron-stained gravel in
the meadow-land of the River Ouse as it flows through the Sussex weald.
These remains are the first remains of a man-like creature found in a
Pleistocene river gravel, and they exceed in interest any human remains
as yet known. There is now reason to hope that more such remains will
be discovered in similar gravels.[12]

[12] The human lower jaw found at Moulin-Quignon fifty years ago by
workmen who brought it to M. Boucher de Perthes, was dismissed after
much study and examination by the most competent anatomists at the time
as being a comparatively recent specimen. I do not know whether it has
been preserved. I have a flint implement found with it which was given
to me in 1862 by M. de Perthes as genuine. It is a forgery, and the jaw
was fraudulently buried with it and others in order to deceive M. de
Perthes and earn a pecuniary reward for the forgers.

It would be highly important were we able to arrive at a satisfactory
conclusion as to what age must be attributed to the Piltdown jaw and
skull. Did we know their age their true significance as a link between
man and ape would be more easily estimated. The gravel in which they
were found contains a handful, as it were, of the sweepings of the land
surface of the great Weald valley of Sussex of all ages and periods
since the emergence of the chalk from the ocean floor--an immense lapse
of time, amounting probably to millions of years! In this sparse and
inconspicuous patch of gravel we find fragments of teeth of mastodon
and elephant and rhinoceros of Miocene and Pliocene age; we also find
bones of quite late kinds of mammals of the Pleistocene period; we also
find two kinds of roughly chipped flint instruments belonging the one
to an earlier and the other to a later age. All are mixed up together
in the gravel. When we come to the question as to which of these
remains are of animals which were the contemporaries of Eoanthropus,
all we can say is that Eoanthropus, the creature whose jaw was found
at Piltdown, may have lived as late as the latest or as early as the
earliest of the animals whose remains are associated with it. The
Eoanthropus remains are not so heavily mineralized, it seems to me, as
are the fragments of teeth of Miocene age found with them. At the same
time, we have no ground for assuming that this creature made either
the earlier or the later type of flint implements found with it, or was
capable of such manufacture. I see no reason for supposing, whatever
may be the age which we may have to attribute to Eoanthropus, that that
creature was capable of flaking flints to a desired shape or of making
fire or had developed the use of articulate speech. Nor is there any
evidence to show that the humanly cut elephant-bone recently found at
Piltdown by Mr. Dawson was cut by Eoanthropus. It is more probable that
this was done by a more highly developed creature of the genus Homo.
In fact, the only ground which at present justifies the association
of Eoanthropus with the Hominidæ or human series rather than with the
Simiidæ or ape series--derived from a common ancestry--is the man-like
rather than ape-like size of the brain, which we must attribute to
Eoanthropus on the assumption, which is at present a reasonable one,
that the half-jaw and the incomplete skull found near each other at
Piltdown are parts of the same individual.[13]

[13] But see foot-note on p. 284.

[Illustration: FIG. 29.--Complete Skull and Jaw of Eoanthropus Dawsoni.
One-third the natural diameter. The parts indicated by dotted lines are
re-constructed. The rest is drawn from the actual bones discovered at
Piltdown.]

[Illustration: FIG. 30.--The complete Skull and Jaw of a young
Chimpanzee. Drawn of one-half the natural diameter in order to compare
with Fig. 29, representing the adult skull of Eoanthropus, reduced to
about the same size.]

CHAPTER XXXI

THE SUPPLY OF PURE MILK

IT is becoming more and more certain that the character and quality
of the actual things--the natural products--which we use as food and
accept as "diet" are far more important matters in regard to the
preservation of health than had been until recently supposed. There has
been a tendency, resulting from some of the well-ascertained chemical
necessities of the animal body and the equally well-ascertained
chemical composition of different articles of food, to suppose that
all that we have to do in regard to diet is to make sure that our
food supplies us with so much carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen,
with small quantities of phosphates, sulphates, and chlorides of
potassium, sodium, calcium (lime), and iron, in a "digestible" form,
in order to replace those chemical elements as their combinations are
used up and thrown off as waste by our bodies. The general notions
current are little more exact than this. It is recognized, it is true,
that these elements must be combined in certain forms; that it is
necessary to take so much "proteid" (meat, gluten of flour, casein
of cheese and milk, albumen of egg), in which nitrogen is a leading
component, foods which are called flesh-formers; and, further, that it
is necessary to take others which supply carbon and hydrogen but have
no nitrogen, namely, the hydro-carbons--fat, butter, and oil--and
the carbo-hydrates--sugar and starch--foods which serve as mere fuel
or heat-and-force givers. The late proprietor of "Truth," Mr. Henry
Labouchere, once said to me that the doctors ought to provide us with a
sausage containing in their simplest form the necessary proportions of
proteid and of heat-giver (fat and sugar), and that we should abandon
all "sit-down" meals, pulling the necessary sausage out of our pockets
without any fuss or interruption to our occupation, and eating a couple
of inches or so, three or four times a day! Experimental feeding of
animals (in menageries, etc.), and even of men (in prison, on the
march, and on ships), has sometimes taken very nearly as simple a form
as this.

But we now know (and many, indeed, have recognized it for many years)
that the nutrition of the animal body, and especially of man's body, is
not so simple a matter as this method would suppose. It is necessary
not merely to supply the proteids, fats, starches, and sugars, in
correct weight and bulk, but also certain qualities and substances in
food, much more subtle and difficult to estimate precisely, which are
required in order to maintain health. There are elaborate chemical
compounds present in really "fresh" meats and vegetables which seem to
be absolutely necessary in order to keep man (and some of the higher
animals) in health, and not only that, but it is ascertained that
without them he cannot be properly nourished, but dies! These subtle,
highly complex bodies seem to be present in very small quantities in
good fresh food, and yet are absolutely necessary though so minute in
amount. The failure of a diet consisting exclusively of tinned meats
and preserved foods is due as much to this as to the nausea set up by
it--of which I have written on a former occasion ("Science from an
Easy Chair," Second Series, 1913, p. 171, "Food and Cookery").

Let us take an example. A distinguished medical chemist, Mr. Gowland
Hopkins, has recently published an account of some experiments in
which he fed young rats on a purely chemical, or "artificial" diet. He
gave them, in proper proportions, chemically purified casein or curd,
starch, sugar, lard, and salts, mixed into a thin paste with water,
of which they had an abundant separate supply. Young rats fed with
abundant natural foods of mixed substances, such as cheese, bread,
egg, bits of meat and vegetable, and water, grow rapidly; they double
their weight in twenty days. The young rats fed by Mr. Hopkins upon
the artificial pure food--though supplied with it and taking it in
abundance--did not increase in weight, and most of them died before
the twentieth day! The curious and important fact was established (by
careful and repeated experiment) that if a teaspoonful of milk was
added to the artificial food (less than one twenty-fifth of the solid
matter of their daily food) the young rats did as well as on "natural"
food, doubled their weight in twenty days, and grew up to be strong
and healthy rats. It was made clear that something was obtained by the
rats from the small quantity of milk--something necessary for carrying
on their nutrition, something the importance of which was not its
quantity but its peculiar quality, which was absent in the artificial
diet, but present in the mixed diet of varied materials which a young
rat naturally gets. It seems that some highly elaborated proteid is
necessary, if only in minute quantity, to set nutrition going, and that
this is furnished by the teaspoonful of milk. Here, then, we have a
case in which the simple rough conclusions as to all that is necessary
in diet being the proper quantities of flesh-forming and heat-giving
substance, are found to be erroneous.

Take another case--that of the disease known as "scurvy." The word
"scurvy" means "afflicted with scurf, mean and dirty." It was applied
to persons afflicted by this particular disease, and a Latin medical
word, "Scorbutus," was made from it in the Middle Ages, which survives
as "scorbutic" at the present day. Scurvy was formerly very common on
board ship, in beleaguered armies, in prisons, and in other conditions
in which men's food was limited to dried and salted, often badly
preserved, meat and biscuit, or stale bread. Its real causation is
not even now agreed upon: some holding that it was due to actual
poisoning by the badly preserved food, others that it was due to the
absence of certain elements--only to be obtained from fresh meat or
fresh vegetables. Others think that it was caused by a bacterium. The
victim of scurvy becomes much debilitated, the gums become spongy and
ulcerated, and extravasations of blood are found in all parts of the
body, often leading to ulceration. In the old times a whole ship's crew
of the Navy would be attacked by it, and half or more died before a
port could be reached and fresh food obtained. It was found that the
use of fresh vegetables, fresh meat, and the juice of fruits prevented
its outbreak, and cured it when once started. For one hundred and fifty
years it has been held in check by the use of lime-juice as a drink
whenever supplies of fresh vegetables and meat run short. It has now
become so unusual a disease that there has been no proper study of it
in the light of modern knowledge.

It seems to be essentially the same condition of malnutrition as
that which prevailed in cities and large tracts of country in the
Middle Ages and occurs at the present day in Norway, caused by a diet
of badly salted fish and dried meat. This produced ulceration of the
extremities, allowing the leprosy bacillus to make its way through the
broken skin into the tissues, and thus led to the widespread occurrence
of leprosy. Whether bacilli of any kind were concerned in the old
virulent outbreaks of "scurvy" on sailing ships must remain uncertain,
but it is highly probable that they were. In any case, it is certain
that the juice of fresh meat or of fresh vegetables when taken set
going a better condition of nutrition in the body, and so acted as
a preventive and a cure of scurvy. Some writers suppose that it was
the salts, such as citrates and lactates, present in fresh fruits and
vegetables which were effective in staying the disease; but this has
by no means been proved, and is not, at the moment, accepted. It is
probable that here, as in the case of Mr. Hopkins's rats, it was a
quite minute quantity of a readily-destroyed proteid present in fresh
meat and vegetables which was necessary to keep the chemical processes
of nutrition in healthy activity.

This view is supported by the fact that in recent years a disease of
infants similar to scurvy, and called "infantile scurvy," has been
described by Sir Thomas Barlow, and fully recognized. It is a condition
of "malnutrition," and is accompanied by "rickets," and is due in the
first place to failure of the mother's milk, and secondly to the bad
quality of the cows' milk substituted for it. Owing to the danger
of infection by bovine tubercle-bacillus and the great expense of
"certified" milk from specially selected cows (eightpence a quart),
it is customary to boil the milk given to children. There seems to
be no doubt that good milk, freshly boiled, is satisfactory. But the
constant use of sterilized milk and so-called Pasteurized milk, as
well as inferior "watered" and more or less stale milk, is frequently
the cause of infantile scurvy. Something is destroyed in the milk by
prolonged heating which is necessary for its proper action as a food.
The addition to the milk of a small quantity of fresh meat-juice
or beetroot-juice appears to replace this destroyed matter, and to
prevent malnutrition and scurvy. And thus the babies are rescued from
"infantile scurvy." Here, again, it is a question of the presence of a
minimal quantity of an easily destroyed proteid, which is necessary to
start the nutritional process and to keep it going.

A very interesting case of the unsuspected influence of minute
quantities of such a "proteid" body (that is, a body like casein and
albumen, but higher in the complexity of its chemical structure and
nearer to the readily destroyed chemical complexity of living matter
itself) has lately been discovered. In the East, especially amongst
Chinese "coolies" and other people who feed on rice, a very troublesome
disease is known, called "Berri-berri." It is chiefly marked by pains
all over the body, lassitude, and debility, and renders its victims
unfit for labour, and so causes great inconvenience to employers of
"Chinese cheap labour." All sorts of causes have been suggested for
it. But it has now been found that it is due to the feeding of the
coolies with "polished rice." This is an inferior rice, the grains
of which have become (by bad, damp storage) rough and powdery on the
surface. The bad rice grain is purchased by dealers and shaken up and
sifted so as to get rid of this dull surface, and is then known as
"polished rice." The grain has lost its outer coat. It has been found
that domesticated birds (pigeons and fowls) fed on this polished rice
become ill with symptoms like those of "Berri-berri," and even die.
And it has been further discovered that these same birds can be cured
by mixing some of the separated outer coat of sound rice grains with
the "polished rice." The result of this observation on birds has been
applied to human patients suffering from "Berri-berri." It is found
that they are rapidly cured by giving them rice "outsides" to eat, and
that those who are feeding on "polished rice" can be prevented from
acquiring the disease "Berri-berri" by mixing rice "outsides" with the
polished rice. The study of the subject has gone further.

A crystallizable substance allied to proteids has been separated by the
chemist in quite minute quantity (one part by weight in 10,000 parts of
rice) from the outer coat of rice grain, and is called "vitamine." It
is this substance which prevents the "whole" rice grain from causing
"Berri-berri" in men and birds who feed on it, and it has been shown
experimentally that it prevents the development of "Berri-berri" when
taken with "polished rice," and cures it when administered to man or
bird suffering from that disease. This case calls to mind the popular
notion that the indigestion caused by eating a "peeled" raw cucumber
can be prevented by eating some of the dark-green "rind" or outside
of the cucumber. I do not know that anyone has ever shown that this
is a true doctrine, but it serves as an illustration of what has been
demonstrated in the case of rice grains and "Berri-berri." Here, then,
again we have, in the case of rice, a minute quantity of a substance
naturally present in an article of food when taken in its natural
normal condition, which is destroyed and removed by the ignorant
manipulation of man, although necessary and essential if that article
of food is to serve as healthy diet. In this case (as so many others)
it is the attempt of greedy traders to make money by giving to a
worthless spoilt article the appearance of the regular and valuable
article, which has led to disease and disaster. It becomes more and
more obvious that the selection of articles of food and the whole
question of what is a healthy diet, are not such simple things as is
often supposed. Here, as in everything we do, we must either keep to
the long-established habits sanctioned by Nature, or we must have full
and detailed knowledge to guide us in new ways, so that we shall not
recklessly blunder by ignorance into disaster and death. The "feeding"
of man and of his herds requires new and continued investigation. Old
convictions and traditions in these matters must not be lightly thrust
aside by the possessor of that little knowledge which is a dangerous
thing. Meanwhile, for the civilized man the advice of Pasteur's pupil
and successor, the late Professor Duclaux, is noteworthy: "Do not
eat much, but eat many things; there is safety in variety, danger in
uniformity."

When we reflect on the importance of these small quantities of easily
destroyed constituents in natural foods, we begin to appreciate the
difficulty of securing a pure milk-supply which shall be at the same
time a nourishing and a healthy one. The sterilizing of milk by heat
before it is sold as an article of diet seems to be desirable in order
to destroy the bovine tubercle-bacillus which may be there and the
other injurious microbes due to the dirty conditions in which the cow
is kept and the milkers keep themselves. The heating of the milk for
some twenty minutes to a temperature below that of boiling water seems
to be the best plan. For infants, meat-juice or beet-juice may then
be added to the milk when used, and so "infantile scurvy" be avoided.
Consumers (older children and adults) who are taking other foods do not
need this additional precaution. Milk thus "Pasteurized" is the safest
milk.

But there is a very serious precaution to be observed in all cases. In
such Pasteurized milk the lactic organism or ferment usually present
is destroyed. Consequently the milk does not "go sour" by the growth
of the lactic ferment. This is no advantage, but a serious danger. For
the lactic "souring" of milk is not injurious, but, on the contrary, a
safeguard. It actually prevents the growth in the milk of other really
harmful and deadly germs. Thus when the lactic germ is not there,
but killed by heat, these other deadly germs get their chance. A fly
or other dirt-carrier brings to the sterilized milk "putrefactive"
bacteria and such germs (terribly common) as those of "green" or
infantile diarrhœa, not to mention others. If the milk had been
unsterilized and gone sour by the growth of the lactic ferment, these
more dangerous germs could not have flourished in the acid conditions
produced by it. The danger of Pasteurized milk is that if kept more
than a few hours at the ordinary temperature of a dwelling-room, and
not carefully protected, it may be a very ready means of communicating
infantile diarrhœa and other intestinal disease. It would therefore
seem to be desirable to restore to the Pasteurized milk a small
quantity of a pure culture of lactic germs. This could be easily done.
The milk would have had its tubercle-bacilli and others removed by
heat, and then, after cooling, it would receive a very few lactic
germs as a protective in case it should be kept by the consumer long
enough to get infected by the bacteria of intestinal disease. It is
imperative that good, nourishing milk, free from germs of tubercle
and of diarrhœa, shall be accessible to the millions in this country
who cannot afford to pay eightpence a quart for it. It is a difficult
demand to meet. What is said above explains the difficulty, and
suggests an attempt to overcome it.

CHAPTER XXXII

CHRISTMAS TREES AND OTHER PINE TREES

WHEN winter grips our land it is fitting to discourse about the sweet
and refreshing pine trees which are especially associated in northern
climes with the celebration of Christmas. The delicious perfume which
they diffuse is destructive both of microbes and noxious insects,
whilst they are always linked in our minds with glorious mountain-sides
or breezy moorland, or the delightful sand dunes and grey rocks of the
sunny shores of the Mediterranean. The decoration of trees on days
of festival and joyful celebration with garlands, lamps, and gifts
is an immemorial custom of mankind, and it is probably merely the
accident of its being convenient in shape, evergreen, cleanly, and
sweet-smelling that has led to the selection of the common spruce as
the "Christmas tree." It was not until the reign of Queen Victoria
that the custom of bringing a young spruce fir into the house, growing
in its special flowerpot, and then decorating it and making it the
centre of a children's festival, became established in England. The
25th of December was celebrated in pre-Christian times in Northern
Europe as the beginning of the New Year, and it was only after much
opposition adopted by the Roman Church in the sixth century as a feast
day in celebration of the birth of Christ. The Puritans rejected it as
idolatrous, but its observance was restored by Charles II. In Scotland
it is still ignored, and in Latin countries presents (_strenæ_, or in
French _les étrennes_) are given on New Year's Day and not on Christmas
Day.

The spruce is in our part of the world the commonest of the great
series of cone-bearing trees which we speak of as pines and firs.
Botanists call this series or "natural order" of trees the Coniferæ,
in reference to the fact that their flowers are cone-shaped growths
consisting of scales set in a spiral order around a central stem.
Each scale is more or less overlaid by a second small scale or
"bract" (sometimes evanescent), and on the inner surface of the
deeper scale the naked ovules are carried in the female cones, whilst
the pollen-producing growths are similarly carried by the smaller
and more delicate male cones. The ovules are exposed nakedly, and
are, therefore, in a more primitive condition than those of ordinary
flowering plants, in which they are overgrown and enclosed by the
modified leaves which form the "pistil" or central part of the flower.
Hence the conifers are called flowering plants with "naked seeds," or
Gymnosperms, whilst the rest of the flower-bearing plants are called
plants with "covered seeds," or Angiosperms. The cones are at first
green (sometimes purple), and become brown as they ripen. The small
loosely-packed male cones, less familiar to most people than the solid
and large seed-bearing cones, are often of a fine crimson colour when
young, and when ripe of a bright chestnut brown, but the cones of pine
trees are with few exceptions (the Douglas fir is one) not brilliantly
coloured nor set out to attract the eye, as are the flowers of most
flowering plants. Though a young branch carrying its groups of green
"needles," rich brown male cones, silver-white hairs and swelling
seed-cones (Fig. 31) presents a very fine harmony of diverse colours,
yet they are not constructed so as to attract the visits of insects.
They do not require the services of insects to carry the pollen of the
male cones to the ovules of the female cones. They produce an enormous
amount of pollen, which falls in showers of yellowish-white dust, and
is blown by the wind, far and wide, on to the female cones. Hence it is
that though the cones are "flowers," and the pine trees are flowering
plants, yet they have none of the beautiful shapes and colours which
we associate, as a rule, with flowers--shapes and colours due to the
modification in the latter of the leaves called "petals" which are set
with attractive brilliancy around the stamens and pistil. The conifers
are an ancient race, dating from geological ages before the chalk, when
plants had not "learnt" (as they subsequently did) to colour their
flowers and to provide nectar so as to ensure the visits of insects
and the carriage by them of their pollen from plant to plant. Even in
the group of plants with coloured flowers there are trees which have
abandoned the production of colour in their flowers, and like the
conifers depend upon the wind to carry their pollen instead of seeking
the aid of insects.

The word "pine" is of Latin origin, and belongs properly to the South
of Europe; the word "fir" is Teutonic, and is originally applied to the
same trees in the North of Europe as those to which "pine" is applied
in the South. It is of no use trying to determine what conifers should
rightly be called "firs" or "fir trees," and which "pines" or "pine
trees." There is complete confusion and indifference nowadays in the
use of those words, and the botanists have in the past added to the
confusion by their changing and uncertain use of the names Pinus and
Abies. A definite system of naming has now been agreed upon, and we
must, in order to understand one another in talking about conifers,
strictly accept and adhere to the names at this moment assigned to them
by the common consent of botanical authorities.

[Illustration: FIG. 31.--A fertile branch of the Scots Fir, Pinus
sylvestris, showing the small male cones, _m.c._, and the larger female
cones, _f.c._, also the foliage needles grouped in pairs. Drawn of
two-thirds the natural size, linear.

The lower figures relate to the male cone. a, A ripe male cone,
slightly enlarged; b, inner face of one of the scales of the male
cone, showing the paired pollen-producing or stamen-like patches--much
magnified; c, outer face of the same scale.]

The Scots fir is Pinus sylvestris. "Pinus" is the name of a genus
of conifers, and includes many species besides sylvestris, our own
familiar Scots fir, which is often now spoken of by the queer,
ill-sounding title of Scotch pine. The Norway spruce or pine, called
often "common spruce," also "the spruce fir," and "Christmas tree," is
the "Picea excelsa" of correct botany. There are several other species
of the genus Picea. A third well-known conifer, the silver fir, is
called by botanists "Abies pectinata"; there are many other species
of Abies. Although it has such a familiar, sweet-sounding name, the
silver fir is not a common tree in England, where it was introduced
only three hundred years ago. It will not thrive at Kew Gardens. It is
the common forest-making fir of the centre of France and of much of the
mountainous country of Southern Europe,[14] but it is rarely to be seen
in the Swiss mountains (only in certain relatively low-lying valleys).
The pine forests of those mountains are almost exclusively formed by
the spruce, with the addition of a few Scots firs and larches, and in
some parts of the Arolla fir or pine.

[14] It is, according to botanical authorities, from the wood of the
silver fir, which still grows on Mount Ida, that the Greeks, as related
by Virgil, constructed the Trojan horse.

"Instar montis equum, divina Palladis arte
Ædificant, sectaque intexunt _abiete_ costas!
(A horse of mountain size they build
By art divine of Pallas helped
And weave its ribs with planks of fir).
"Æneid," ii. 15.

The common larch is a fourth common kind of conifer. It is
distinguished from other pine trees which flourish in England by
shedding its needles so as to leave itself bare in the winter. It is
called "Larix Europœa," and is closely related to the cedars. It was
introduced into England in 1629.

Man by his migrations and trading journeys has had far more to do with
the introduction and spreading of trees, and even of small flowering
plants, from one country to another, than is commonly suspected. It
appears that of the trees I have already mentioned only the Scots
fir is really native to these islands. Even the Christmas tree, the
common spruce, was introduced from the Continent by invading man after
we had become separated by the sea from the mainland of Europe. The
introduction took place, it seems, in very early times, and there is
no record of the event. Peat deposits have been studied and their age
estimated, and it is found that in those of the age of the neolithic
men there are no remains of spruce, but only of Scots firs!

The conifers are remarkable not only for their "cones," but for the
needle-like shape which their leaves often present, whence the latter
are spoken of simply as "needles." Conifers are also distinguished
by the fine aromatic oils which they produce in these needles and in
their wood, which serve them as a protection against browsing animals,
although to man their perfume is agreeable. In the Tyrol, near Cortina,
I remember a little shop in the pine woods where you could buy the
odorous essences extracted from the different species of conifers
growing around, and each species had its own special perfume. Besides
these aromatic oils, the conifers produce peculiar resins, such as
colophon, amber, kauri gum, Canada balsam, Dammar varnish, and others,
and also various qualities of turpentine, tar, and pitch.

I have mentioned the three commonest conifers which flourish in
England, and have pointed out that only one of them--the Pinus
sylvestris, or Scots fir--is really indigenous to our islands. It
extends all over Europe, except the extreme south and west, and right
through Russian Asia. In the Alps, at the height of 3000 to 5000 feet,
it is represented by a dwarf recumbent species, the Pinus montana, or
P. pumilio. There is another really native conifer in Britain which
belongs to a peculiar family, that of the cypresses. This is the common
juniper, called by botanists "Juniperus communis," a mere shrub, but
still a beautiful little thing, noticeable for the fine perfume of its
leaves, which is used for flavouring "gin," and for its peculiar minute
and compact berry-like cones. It has a very wide range, flourishing
throughout the north temperate region of Europe, Asia, and America.
There is another juniper well known in England, namely, the Savin
(Juniperus Sabina). This is not a native, but was introduced before
1548. It has powerful medicinal properties.

When we spend our holidays abroad in Switzerland or on the
Mediterranean shores we come across many other flourishing,
well-established kinds of pines, firs, and cypresses. And we need not
leave England in order to make acquaintance with a very large number
which have been introduced from abroad into plantations and parks,
and grow under favourable circumstances, but cannot be said to have
established themselves as naturalized inhabitants. Among those more
anciently introduced is the cedar of Lebanon; of later introduction we
have the Indian cedar or deodar, and the Weymouth pine, Pinus Strobus,
a North American tree. Still later a veritable crowd of American,
Himalayan, Japanese, and Chinese pine trees of one kind and another
have been introduced by dealers and their rich clients, the owners of
park plantations, so that it is now far easier to see in the grounds
around great English houses all sorts of pine trees from remote regions
of the earth than the British species, or those interesting European
kinds which have some kind of community with them, and are, at any
rate, objects of interest to the naturalist whose familiar ground is
that of Europe. Most people are utterly perplexed by the number of
kinds, and do not know one from another.

In order to discuss a little further in detail the commoner kinds
of Coniferæ besides those which may be considered as truly British,
and have been mentioned above, we must take a glance at the plants
related to the natural order Coniferæ, and then at the divisions of
that natural order into families and tribes. The Coniferæ are an order
of the great class of Gymnosperms--one of two classes into which the
flowering plants or Phanerogams are divided, the other being (as
explained above) the Angiosperms (palms, grasses, lilies, and all
our ordinary trees, shrubs, and flower-bearing herbs). The orders
included under "Gymnosperms" are: First, an order, the Pterido-spermia,
comprising certain remarkable fossil forms connecting them with ferns;
second, the order Cycadeæ, an ancient group, of which only a dozen or
so kinds survive to this day; third, the order Gnetaceæ, including
Wellwitch's strange African plant and the little European Ephedras,
resembling the plants called horse-tails; fourth, the order of the
Gingko trees of Japan, called also Salisburiæ, with leaves like those
of the maiden's-hair fern. They and one or two others are survivors
of an important extinct group (the Gingkoaceæ), which we know by their
fossil remains flourished in great numbers before the chalk period.
Then we have: fifth, the order Taxaceæ (or yew trees); and, sixth,
the order Coniferæ (or cypresses, pines, cedars, and firs). The first
four orders, though very interesting, exceptional plants we will leave
aside, as they do not come very near to the Coniferæ. The order of yew
trees, Taxaceæ, however, does come close to the Coniferæ, and sometimes
they are grouped together.

[Illustration: FIG. 32.--The Common Yew, Taxus baccata.

a, Part of a branch (of the natural size) showing the needle-like
leaves in two opposite rows, and three fruits. The cup-like growth
which is seen surrounding the naked seed is called an "aril." It is of
a fine crimson colour, soft, juicy, and sweet-tasting.

b, The young cone-like growth or "flower" of the yew, from the end of
which one seed and its cup-like aril will develop. Magnified.

c, The seed surrounded by the incompletely grown aril or cup at a later
stage. Less highly magnified than b.]

There is one truly native British example of the order Taxaceæ--the
common yew tree, called "Taxus baccata" by botanists. Its leaves are
"needles," like those of most conifers, but much flattened, and it
has the sombre colour and the general aspect of some of the larger
conifers. But its ovule-bearing flower, although it appears when young
(Fig. 32, b) to be built up by several scale-like leaves like the cone
of a conifer, does not continue in that form, and ceases to have
any resemblance to a "cone." Only the terminal leaf or scale of the
group enlarges and develops an ovule, and around this grows an open
cup-like protection of the most delicate crimson colour--soft, sweet,
and luscious (Fig. 32, c and a). It is as big as a pea, and is largely
eaten by birds and by schoolboys! Yew trees have from time immemorial
been planted and cared for in Great Britain, since its wood was
formerly greatly valued for making archers' bows. Wild groves of yew
trees, once existing, have been largely destroyed. Some of the finest
are on the chalk hills of Surrey, where the yew flourishes alongside
of the juniper. Very fine yew trees are often found growing, one or
two together, in village churchyards, where they have been planted in
remote times, just as cypress trees are to-day planted in cemeteries in
the South of Europe. Yew trees with trunks from 30 to 50 feet in girth
at 12 feet from the ground are known, and it is probable that some are
as much as a thousand years old.

Many varieties of the yew tree occur in these islands. A celebrated
variety is that in which the branches are all directed upwards rather
than horizontally--a frequent form of variation in trees which more
usually have spreading, nearly horizontal branches. This variety is
called "fastigiate" (the "fastigiate" condition of the common cypress
tree is the one usually cultivated, although there are common varieties
with spreading branches), and in the case of the fastigiate yew it is
accompanied by a variation in the disposition of the needles or leaves.
Instead of being carried right and left in a single row on each side
of the young branches, as is usual with yews, the needles are set all
round the branch in spiral order (as they are in many conifers). This
variety was found growing wild in Co. Fermanagh, Ireland, nearly two
hundred years ago, and a couple of trees of it were then cultivated at
Florence Court by the Earl of Enniskillen of that date. Thousands of
cuttings have been sent from one of these two original trees, which
is still vigorous (I saw it some thirty years ago at Florence Court)
all over the world. It is known as the "Florence Court yew," or "Irish
yew," and is commonly planted in gardens. But all are from cuttings
of this one original tree, or cuttings of its cuttings, and all, like
their parent, are female berry-bearing trees, for the male and female
flowers grow on separate trees in the yew.

The foliage of the yew contains aromatic and other chemical products,
which render it poisonous to cattle. It is said not to be poisonous
when quite fresh, but only some time after cutting. This, however,
needs confirmation. The yew makes an admirably compact and impervious
screen when grown as a hedge, and has been largely used in gardens for
this purpose. In the sixteenth century it was the custom to clip yew
hedges, or small yew trees, into all sorts of strange shapes, birds,
beasts, and crowns. The name "topiary" is given to this fanciful work.
The popularity of the yew in the gardens of those days is due to
the small number of our native evergreen shrubs and trees; they are
yew, Scots fir, juniper, holly, privet, ivy, butcher's broom, box (a
doubtful native), spurge-laurel, and mistletoe. Up to the end of the
seventeenth century only a few evergreens had been introduced from
abroad, viz., spruce pine, silver fir, stone pine, pinaster, the cedar
of Lebanon, savin, arbor vitæ, evergreen oak, sweet bay, Portugal
laurel, laurustine, and arbutus.

I have often wished to have some simple, straight-forward information
as to conifers, so as to be able to know what differences among them
are really recognized by botanists, and what are the correct names of
those which one commonly sees. Having gathered that information, I
propose to impart it, as far as may be consistent with brevity, to my
readers, though I am afraid that to some it will prove a dull business.
The order Coniferæ, from which the yew trees (Taxaceæ) are excluded,
is divided into four families. These are: (1) the family Abietinæ,
which comprises the true pines, and fir trees, and the cedars; (2)
the family Araucarianæ, which includes the Monkey puzzle of South
America and Australia, and the Dammar tree of New Zealand; (3) the
family Taxodinæ, which is best known by the so-called Wellingtonia, or
Sequoia, but includes several other genera and species; and (4) the
family Cupressinæ, in which the juniper, cypress, and "arbor vitæ," or
Thuya, are placed.

The form and size of the frequently needle-like leaves of coniferæ are
not of so much importance in indicating the affinities of these plants
as one might expect, although their grouping either in tufts or in rows
is a matter of significance. In some of them the "needles," or leaves,
are long and narrow (Abietinæ); in others they are broad and leaf-like
(Araucarianæ); in others they are all or most of them reduced to mere
ridges or short scales set quite closely to the leaf-bearing branch
(many Cupressinæ and Taxodinæ). It is not possible to give, without
going into botanical minutiæ, the items of structure by which the four
families of conifers are distinguished from one another. It is best for
the nature-lover who is not an adept in botanical details to think of
them as grouped each round one well-known species. Thus the Abietinæ
are grouped round the spruce pine, the Araucarianæ round the monkey
puzzle, the Taxodinæ round the Wellingtonia, and the Cupressinæ round
the juniper. In all but the last family the ovule-bearing scales of the
female cone are arranged spiral-wise around a central supporting stem;
in Cupressinæ they are few in number, very thick, and opposite to one
another so as to form a globular rather than a cone-shaped body. In
all but a few Cupressinæ and Araucarianæ the male and female cones are
carried on the same tree, sometimes on separate branches, but usually
on the same branch. The male and female cones are always distinct, and
the female much the larger and more enduring.

[Illustration: FIG. 33.--A thin slice across one of the foliage needles
of the Common Spruce. Highly magnified. _r_, The single resin canal;
_f_, the mid-rib, with a single bundle of fibres and vessels cut
across.--(From Veitch.)]

[Illustration: FIG. 34.--A thin slice across one of the foliage needles
of the Silver Fir. Highly magnified. It is flatter than the similar
slice of the needle of the spruce. _r_, _r_, The _two_ resin canals;
_f_, the mid-rib, in which _two_ bundles of fibres and vessels can be
distinguished.--(From Veitch.)]

The Abietinæ are divided into three tribes--(_a_) the spruces and
silver firs (this group corresponding to the French _Sapins_), (_b_)
the larches and cedars, (_c_) the Scots firs (_Pins_ of the French).
Let us take first the group of spruces and silver firs. The Norwegian
spruce is the type of the genus Picea. It is called _Pesse_ by the
French, _Fichte_ by the Germans, and Picea excelsa by botanists. We
may contrast it with the silver fir Abies pectinata (_Sapin des Vosges_
of the French, _Silbertanne_ of the Germans), which we take as the
type of the genus Abies. In many respects the silver fir looks like
the spruce. In both the stem is straight, reaching a height of 100 to
150 feet, regularly furnished with tiers of branches from the ground
upwards. The leaves are needles, half an inch to an inch long, which
stand out from the branchlets, but in the spruce they are quadrangular,
green all over, and arise all round the branch, whilst in the silver
fir they are flat, grooved on the lower surface, which is silver-grey
in colour, and they tend to be disposed right and left in two rows.
Each needle has a single resin canal in the spruce, but has two in
the silver fir, as may be easily seen by cutting the needles across
the length with a sharp knife (Figs. 33 and 34). Each scale-like
ovule-producing leaf which goes to build up the ripe seed-bearing
cone has (as in all conifers theoretically) an outer scale, called a
"bract," attached to it which is very short and hidden in the case of
the spruce cone, but is longer than the ovuliferous scale, and very
obvious in the silver fir (Fig. 35). It has a triangular re-curved
point, which gives the cones of that species a characteristic
appearance (Fig. 36). The cones of the silver fir (5 to 6 inches long
and 2 inches thick) are set upright on the branches, and when they have
shed the seeds the scales fall off rapidly and leave the axis bare,
whilst the cones of the spruce (about an inch shorter) are pendulous
(Fig. 37), and their scales remain in position after the seed is shed.

[Illustration: FIG. 35.--The upright spine-bearing cone of the Silver
Fir, Abies pectinata. The cones vary from this size to one-third as
long again. (Copied from Veitch's "Manual of the Coniferæ," by kind
permission of Messrs. Veitch.)]

[Illustration: FIG. 36.--a, Structure of the female cone of the Silver
Fir. A single cone-scale, OVS, with its reflected and pointed "bract,"
br, seen from the outer surface; st, stalk.

b, The same seen from the inner surface; letters as before, and in
addition OV, one of the pair of naked seeds; W, its wing.

c, The same in section, showing well the reflected or turned-over
spine-like end of the bract; letters as before.

d, One of the winged seeds detached.]

There are many "spruces," other species of the genus Picea, from
various parts of Europe, temperate Asia, and North America, which are
cultivated in English parks and gardens. Such are the American white
and red and black spruces, the Siberian, the Oriental, the Servian, and
the tiger's-tail Japanese spruce. Then there is the beautiful variety
of the blue American spruce, Picea pungens. The blue-grey colour of the
needles is frequently obtained as a "variety" in the cultivation of
different species of conifers, as also is the yellow, or golden-leaved,
condition.

[Illustration: FIG. 37.

A, The female cone of the Common Spruce, Picea excelsa. Half the
natural size (linear measurement). It hangs from its attachment instead
of standing up as does the cone of the silver fir.

B, Ripe cone-scale of the Common Spruce, detached and seen from the
inner face, so as to show the two winged seeds. Enlarged.]

In the genus Abies, associated with the silver fir, are a whole series
of American, Siberian, and Japanese species. An interesting one is
the Californian Abies bracteata, which has thornlike processes on the
cone 2 inches in length, corresponding to the re-curved spines on the
cone of the silver fir. It was introduced into England in 1853, and
specimens are growing in Eastnor Park, near Ledbury. The beautiful
_pinsapo_ of the Spanish Sierra Nevada also belongs to the genus
Abies, and may be seen in some English plantations. The Tsuga firs of
Japan and North America are related to Abies, but are now placed in a
separate genus (Tsuga), as also is the Douglas fir of North America
(Pseudotsuga), which has been extensively planted in Great Britain.
The Douglas fir is readily recognized by the decorative trifid outer
scales or "bracts" of the rather short cone (Fig. 42). When freshly
grown these cones have beautiful purple tints mingled with pale green.

[Illustration: FIG. 38.--Cone and foliage (many needles in each tuft)
of the Common Larch, Larix Europœa. Of the natural size.]

The larches and cedars form the second group or section of the
Abietinæ, distinguished by the fact that the needle-like leaves grow
in tufts of twenty to forty at the end of short stumpy branchlets
or "spurs" (Fig. 38). In the larches, which form the genus Larix,
the needles fall off every autumn and leave the tree bare, the
annually-renewed feathery foliage contrasting, by its fresh bright
green colour, with the darker hues of the persistent needles of
other conifers. The common larch (Larix Europœa) is a native of the
mountainous regions of Central Europe. The French call it _Méléze_.
There are Himalayan, Japanese, and North American species. The common
larch when full-grown is 100 feet and more in height, and has the
branches arranged in whorls of diminishing length, so as to give the
"Christmas-tree shape" so common among coniferæ. It was introduced into
England in the seventeenth century.

The cedars closely resemble the larches, but have the leaves or
needles persistent, and the large cones take two years to ripen,
instead of one year, as in all the conifers which I have hitherto
mentioned. The cedars form the genus Cedrus, and three species are
distinguished, namely: (1) C. Libani, the cedar of Lebanon; (2) C.
Atlantica, the North African cedar of the Atlas mountains; and (3)
C. deodara, the Himalayan cedar or deodar. They are now considered
to be geographical varieties of one species. They differ chiefly in
the set of the branches and foliage. The cedar of Lebanon has the
trunk forked, and gives rise to large, unequally disposed branches,
spreading horizontally; it may have a spread of 100 feet and a height
of 70 feet. In this country it is often uprooted by the wind, or its
branches are broken by a weight of snow, when it has attained nearly
full growth. The deodar cedar is more Christmas-tree-like in shape,
the trunk rarely is forked, and it attains, in its native mountains, a
height of 250 feet. The Atlas cedar is in many respects intermediate
in character between C. Libani and C. deodara. The cedar of Lebanon is
undoubtedly the most majestic of the conifers grown in English parks.
It was introduced in the year 1665. There are specimens growing in this
country of which the trunk has a girth of 25 feet.

The third section of the family Abietinæ is formed by the genus Pinus,
of which the Scots fir, or Scotch pine (Pinus sylvestris), is the
type. The Abietinæ of this genus are distinguished by their foliage.
There are two kinds of leaves--the primitive ones, which are little,
scale-like, green up-growths closely scattered on the young branches;
and the secondary ones, which are long needles carried as a tuft
or fascicle on a very stumpy branchlet. These tufts of needles are
persistent (that is to say, are not shed yearly), and differ from those
of the larches and cedars in consisting of but few needles in a tuft,
the number being characteristic of different species, some having
five, others three, others two, and the American Pinus monophylla
having only one. The general shape of these trees is not tapering
like the spruce with unforked trunk, but they usually shed the lower
branches as growth goes on, and present in most cases a trunk carrying
an umbrella-like expanse of foliage-bearing branches, or several such
expanses. The scales which form the cones in the genus Pinus are (with
few exceptions, such as the Weymouth pine) not flat and flexible, but
are thickened, swollen, and even knob-like and wooden at the exposed
part, which is armed with a weak or a strong prickle (see Figs. 39,
40, and 41). The cones do not ripen until the end of the second or
third season; they may be, according to species, erect, pendulous,
or horizontal, and vary in size in different species. In some they
remain closed on the trees for an indefinite period (even fifteen or
twenty years), until opened by the heat of a forest fire or of an
exceptionally hot season.

The Scots fir, Pinus sylvestris (Fig. 31), called _Pin de Genève_ by
the French, has a very wide range. It extends eastward and northward
from the Sierra Nevada, in Spain, through Europe and Russian Asia; its
northern limit approaches the Arctic circle, its southern limit is
formed by the great mountain chains of the Alps, Caucasus, and Altai
range of Asia. The beautiful blue-green colour of its needles, the fine
red-brown tint of its trunk and branches, and the graceful spread of
its foliage high up on a few great, unequally-grown branches springing
from its tall, bare trunk, are amongst the most picturesque features
of English landscape. In the southern counties "clumps" of a dozen or
score of these graceful trees are often to be seen on some isolated
hilltop in the moorlands, and are associated with poetic tradition and
ancient superstition. In the North of Britain they are more frequent
as forest. The Scots fir is the only pine tree really native in our
land. It is distinguished from several other species of Pinus by having
the leaves or needles in bundles of two, and having relatively small
oblong cones (2 to 3 inches long) which are borne near the ends of
the branches (Fig. 31). The constituent scales of the cone are only
slightly thickened, and the surface knob has no prickle. There are
two of the common pine trees of the Mediterranean coast (the Riviera
and elsewhere), namely, the Aleppo pine (Pinus halepensis) and the
so-called Corsican or Austrian pine (Pinus Laricio), which agree in the
above-given points with the Scots fir, and are, in fact, difficult to
distinguish from it, except by general shape, mode of growth, and the
colour of the leaves and stem. The needles of the Scots fir are 1½ to
3 inches long, those of P. halepensis 2½ to 3½ inches, and those of P.
Laricio 4 to 6 inches long. The Pyrenæan or Calabrian pine is closely
similar to these.

A very important and abundant pine on the Mediterranean and Biscay
coast of France is the Pinaster (Pinus pinaster), often called the
"cluster pine," and by the French _Pin des Landes_ and _Pin maritime_
(Fig. 39). It also has its needles, often 6 inches long, in groups of
two. It is usually a smaller tree than the others, but in favourable
localities attains a height of 80 feet. Its cones are twice as long as
those of the Scots fir, often, as at Bournemouth, 4 and even 5 inches
long, and its branches are slender in proportion to the trunk, the bark
coarse and fissured, and its foliage (as is that of all the two-leaved
set except the Scots fir) of a yellowish (not bluish) green. It has
been found invaluable in holding sandy land from shifting and breaking
up, and is planted for this purpose along the coast of the Landes and
in other parts of the world.

[Illustration: FIG. 39.--Female Cone of the Pinaster, or Maritime
Pine (Pinus pinaster). Drawn of the natural size from a Bournemouth
specimen.]

A still better-known pine, which, like those already mentioned, has its
needles in pairs, is the stone pine (Pinus pinea), called by the French
_Pin de parasol_ and by the Italians _Pino a pinocchi_. This fine tree
(usually bigger than the Pinaster) has been largely planted in Italy on
account of its picturesque appearance. This is the tree which one sees
so often in Turner's landscapes. The needles are 5 to 6 inches long,
and the cones are very large and almost spherical, being often 5 inches
long and 4 inches in diameter. The cones do not mature until the third
year. The scales are very large and solid, which renders it difficult
to extract the nut-like seeds, which are roasted and eaten. Hence the
name stone-pine. The spreading, parasol-like shape of the stone-pine is
characteristic. A few specimens are to be seen in cultivation in this
country. In order to distinguish Pinus sylvestris from P. halepensis,
laricio, pinaster, and pinea, the deep blue-green colour of the foliage
of the first is sufficient, together with the shortness of its needles.
To distinguish the others among themselves (except in the case of
well-grown typical examples) it is necessary to examine the cones
closely, and often when one comes upon these trees they are, on account
of the season, devoid of these distinguishing products.

[Illustration: FIG. 40.--Female Cone of the Monterey Pine of California
(Pinus insignis). Of the natural size, but somewhat larger specimens
are frequent. The characteristic three foliage needles in a bunch,
in place of two or five distinctive of some other species of Pinus,
are shown in the drawing on the left.--(From Veitch's "Manual of
Coniferæ.")]

Wide tracts of sandy moorland in the south of England have been in
the last century extensively planted with various species of Pinus,
and afford the naturalist an interesting opportunity for comparing
one with another. At Bournemouth the plantations are chiefly of the
Austrian variety of Pinus Laricio,[15] the Scots P. sylvestris, and
the Mediterranean Pinaster. The latter is especially luxuriant there.
Here and there I have found other species at Bournemouth. A remarkable
one with three needles in a group is the Californian Pinus insignis
(Fig. 40), known as the Monterey pine. It has a very large cone which
is curiously one-sided in growth, the seed-scales on the side facing
away from the supporting branch being larger than those on the opposite
face. Another interesting species to be met with there is the Pinus
muricata, also a Californian sea-coast species. The cones of this
species are about 3 inches long and half that in breadth. In all
the species of Pinus the outer end of the scales which build up the
cone is swollen and squeezed compactly by its fellows, forming a hard
shield-like surface of a lozenge shape, in the middle of which is a
knob or process (see Figs. 31, 39, and 40). Usually this is short and
not very sharp, but in Pinus muricata the cone is very hard and solid
and the knob is elongated into a spine of nearly one-third of an inch
long (Fig. 41). Theses pines are so hard and sharp that they render it
impossible to grasp the cone with the hand in order to pluck it. The
cones remain on the tree for fifteen years or more, and may be seen
in close-set clusters surrounding quite old branches. The cones of
Pinus rigida--one of the American pitch-pines--are similarly protected
by spines. Pinus rigida is easily distinguished by its having its
needles in bundles of three from Pinus muricata, which has the more
usual arrangement of a pair of needles to each bundle. The Douglas
fir is also to be found here and there in the gardens and parks of
Bournemouth. Its cones (Fig. 42) are remarkable for their beautiful
purple and pale green tints when young, and for the long trifid bract
on the outside of each scale, similar to but larger than those on the
cone-scales of the silver fir, Abies pectinata (Fig. 35), and not bent
backwards as they are.

[15] A fine specimen is growing near the main entrance of Kew Gardens.

[Illustration: FIG. 41.--Female Cone of Pinus muricata, showing the
long sharp spines which stand up from the boss or umbo in the centre of
the swollen, woody, lozenge-shaped end or "apex" of each seed-scale.
Compare these with the un-armed bosses in the centre of each lozenge
building up the surface of the cones drawn in Figs. 31, 39, and 40.]

[Illustration: FIG. 42.--Female Cone of the Douglas Fir of North-West
America (Oregon and Vancouver), Pseudotsuga Douglasii. Of the natural
size.--(From Veitch.)]

There are two pine trees of the genus Pinus which one comes across,
either in English plantations or on the Continent, and are readily
distinguished by having the leaves (needles) in bundles of five. The
first of these is the Arolla pine--Pinus Cembra (French, _cembrot_)--a
pine tree much like the Scots fir in general appearance, but
distinguishable from it, not only by the tufts of five needles in a
bunch instead of two, but also by the erect cones which are nearly as
broad as long (3 in. by 2 in.). It is essentially a Siberian tree, and
grows in Europe only on the Carpathian Mountains and the Alps. I have
seen it in the neighbourhood of the Rhone Valley in Switzerland, but it
is yearly becoming rarer owing to its destruction at the great heights
(4000 to 6000 feet), where it formerly flourished, by the herdsmen in
order to extend the pasturage for their milk industry. The other pine
with five leaves in a tuft, which one may often see, is the Weymouth
pine--Pinus Strobus. It is a native of the New England States and
Canada, where it is known as the white pine, and is greatly valued as a
timber tree. It was introduced and planted in England by Lord Weymouth
at the beginning of the eighteenth century, and is a very handsome
tree, growing to 120 feet in height, with a bluish-green colour of the
foliage like that of the Scots fir. The needles are 3 to 4 inches long,
and the cones pendulous, 5 to 6 inches long and blunt. Another pine of
the five-leaved group is to be seen in gardens in the South of Europe
(for instance at Baveno on the Lago Maggiore), where it is introduced
from Mexico. This is the Pinus Montezumæ, which has extraordinarily
long tufts of needles of a blue-green colour, each needle from 7 to
10 inches long, arranged as radiating or fan-like growths of great
beauty and striking appearance. The Bohtan pine of the Himalayas (Pinus
excelsa--not to be confused with Picea excelsa, the spruce) is also a
five-leaved species. Several specimens of it are flourishing in Kew
Gardens.

A few lines must be given to the Araucarianæ, Taxodinæ, and Cupressinæ.
The Araucarianæ include, besides the Chilian monkey puzzle, an
Australian species, and the New Zealand Dammar pine Agathis, which
produces the amber-like Kauri gum. The leaves of the monkey puzzle are
like the scales of a spruce cone in shape, and the ordinary branches
are like elongated green spruce-cones, whilst the seed-cones have
needle-like scales. The next family, the Taxodinæ, are in many respects
intermediate in character, between the Abietinæ (true pines, cedars,
and firs) and the Cupressinæ (cypresses and junipers). They have very
small, lance-shaped leaves, closely packed, so as to overlap one
another--as in the celebrated Wellingtonia or American Big-tree--and
small cones, with hard, knob-like scales, resembling those of the most
woody-coned Pinus, but few in number. The American Big-tree (native on
the western slopes of the Californian Sierra Nevada) is named "Sequoia
gigantea" by the botanists. It was introduced into England about sixty
years ago. The Red-wood, of the Pacific coast of the United States,
is another species of Sequoia (S. sempervirens), and it appears that
a specimen of it has been measured as reaching 340 feet in height;
whilst no living specimen of the S. gigantea has been definitely
measured of more than 325 feet in height. There are several other
large exotic, pine-like trees, which are placed in the Taxodinæ. The
extraordinary and interesting tree called the Japanese umbrella pine
(Sciadopitys verticillata) is associated with the Sequoias by some
botanists; but it is in important respects unlike any other conifer.
It has a very peculiar foliage, namely, rod-like leaflets, twenty to
thirty in number, arranged in circlets or whorls like the spokes or
ribs of an umbrella. The curious thing is that these are not "leaves,"
but, according to botanists, are leaf-like shoots or branchlets! It may
be seen growing in Kew Gardens, where it was introduced thirty years
ago.

The last family of the Coniferæ is the Cupressinæ, so named after
the great and beautiful cypress tree, which is said to have given
its name to the island of Cyprus, which in turn gives its name to
cupreous metal, or copper. The cypress tree similarly gives its name
to "coffers" and "coffins" made of its wood, as the Buxus or box-tree
has given its name to a "box." The cypress is the Gopher tree of the
Hebrews. The family includes many species of junipers (Juniperus) and
the American and Japanese Arbor vitæ (Thuya) and its allies. In the
common cypress (Cupressus sempervirens) the leaves are singular, small,
scale-like growths, which are flattened on to the delicate branchlets
which bear them. In other trees of the family both such leaves and also
upstanding lancet-like leaves are present. The main character is the
small size and globular shape of the cones and the very few swollen
scales, more like solid wedges adherent to one another, which build
them up. These wedge-like scales are not arranged in whorls, but are
opposite to one another on the short axis or stem of the cone. The
common juniper (Juniperus communis), the _génévrier_ of the French,
grows abundantly on the chalk downs of the South of England, where
it appears as a small bush, not exceeding 5 feet in height, but in
favourable conditions reaches a height of 20 feet. The cones of the
juniper are numerous, and each consists of only three ovuliferous
scales, and is only one-fifth of an inch in diameter when ripe, and of
a blackish violet colour.

At the close of this compressed survey of the order Coniferæ, let me
put the chief forms and groups at which we have looked in a tabular
form, thus:

=Order CONIFERÆ:=

_FAMILY_ 1.--ABIETINÆ.
SECTION A.--SAPINEÆ (SPRUCES AND SILVER FIRS).
_Genus_ 1.--Picea. 2. Tsuga. 3. Pseudotsuga. 4. Abies.
SECTION B.--LARICEÆ (LARCHES AND CEDARS).
_Genus_ 1.--Larix. 2. Cedrus.
SECTION C.--PINEÆ.
_Genus_ unic.--Pinus.

_FAMILY_ 2.--ARAUCARIANÆ.
_Genus_ 1.--Araucaria. 2. Agathis. 2. Cunninghamia.

_FAMILY_ 3.--TAXODINÆ.
_Genus_ 1.--Sequoia. 2 Taxodium. 3. Sciadopitys, etc.

_FAMILY_ 4.--CUPRESSINÆ.
_Genus_ 1.--Cupressus. 2. Thuya. 3. Juniperus, etc.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE LYMPH AND THE LYMPHATIC SYSTEM

MOST people do not know even of the existence in their own bodies of
a fluid called "the lymph," and of a system of vessels and spaces
containing it which ramify like the blood-vessels into every part of
the body. This arises from the fact that the lymph is translucent and
colourless. You can see the finest blood-vessels when the body of a
dead rat, sheep, or man is opened, because they are filled with the
beautiful red blood, and appear as a rich, coloured network. But the
lymph and the lymph-vessels escape notice, and, indeed, are invisible
except the largest, because they are colourless. They remained unknown
to anatomists long after arteries and veins, and the fine networks of
hair-like vessels or capillaries connecting them, were thoroughly well
studied. It is, when one thinks of it, a very noteworthy fact, tending
to convince us of the readiness with which we may (in the absence of
careful examination and attention) overlook the most weighty things,
that here is a great system of vessels and spaces in the human body
and in that of other animals, carrying on most important operations in
our daily life, and yet most of us have never seen any evidence of its
existence, and never hold it in our mind's eye as part of the great
mechanism of the animal body.

The lymph is a clear, colourless fluid, with "corpuscles"--minute
nucleated cells or particles of protoplasm--floating in it. The liquid
part is closely similar in its properties and chemical constitution
to the liquid part of the blood. It, indeed, consists largely of
the liquid part of the blood which exudes from the finest hair-like
blood-vessels or capillaries as they traverse the various tissues, and
it is the chief business of the "lymphatics" or lymph-holding vessels
to return this exuded liquid to the blood system, which they do by
joining--like the rivulets of a river system--to form two large trunks
which open into the great blood-holding veins at the region where
they approach the heart. The total amount of lymph in the lymphatic
system is difficult to estimate, but it is larger in quantity than
the blood in the entire blood-vascular system. A large number of the
delicate vessels of the lymphatic system take their origin just below
the lining layer of the intestine, and ramify through the transparent
membrane, which holds the coils of intestine together, and is called
the mesentery. The fatty or oily materials of food pass through the
lining "cells" of the intestinal wall into these "lacteal" or milky
lymphatics, and consequently in an animal killed and examined after a
meal, the fluid in them has a milky appearance, and renders this kind
of "lymphatics" visible.

They were for this reason the first to be detected, and were known even
in ancient times to anatomists. The milky fluid in them was called "the
chyle." Its milky appearance is due to the same cause as the white
opaque appearance of milk, namely, to the presence of an immense number
of excessively small particles of oil (fat) and a certain proportion
of larger globules of the same nature. It was thus not difficult
for the old anatomists to trace the fine branches of the lacteals
uniting branch to branch, and at last forming a large trunk--called
the thoracic duct--about a quarter of an inch thick, which runs up
the inner face of the backbone to the neck, where it joins the great
left subclavian vein, and pours its contents into the blood-stream
which is there nearing the heart. A small trunk formed by the union
of lymphatic vessels from the right side of the head and neck and the
right upper limb opens into the right subclavian vein. It took some
time to discover this smaller trunk, since it is not brought to view by
milky contents. Gradually it was made out that there are innumerable
transparent branches opening into the thoracic duct from the whole of
the body, besides the milky-looking lacteals: branches which bring
"limpid" clear fluid, or "lymph," from all the viscera, from the
muscles, and from the deeper layers of the skin in every region of the
body, even from the toes, fingers, and tongue tip. In fact, wherever
the blood-vessels take blood there are also vessels of the lymphatic
system bringing back to the heart the liquid exudation which escapes
into the tissues from the finest blood-vessels (Fig. 43).

[Illustration: FIG. 43.--The fore-arm of man, with the skin removed
so as to show the large superficial lymphatic vessels resting on the
muscles. They are represented as white knotted cords. On the palm of
the hand (8, 8) and on the fingers a closer network of these vessels is
represented, but the smaller lymphatic capillaries and spaces are not
shown.]

Whilst we distinguish in an animal body various "tissues" which have
special properties and activities, and can be dissected out and
delimited--as we could dissect and distinguish the "tissues" (flannel,
silk, leather, whalebone, wadding, gold-thread, etc.) making up an
elaborate padded, stiffened brocaded, lined, and decorated costume--we
find that, unlike what is usual in a man-made costume, all the parts
of an animal body (viscera, and their lobes and sub-divisions,
the blood-vessels, nerves, muscles, bones, etc.), are covered and
separated from one another, and, at the same time, held together by
a ubiquitous soft, spongy tissue, consisting of delicate threads and
bands, enclosing spaces--some excessively minute and narrow, others
larger--in which is a liquid. This is the great packing tissue of the
body, and is called "the connective tissue." Its threads and bands
have delicate, usually flat nucleated corpuscles (so-called "cells")
of transparent protoplasm resting upon them and bathed by the liquid
in the fine spaces. The threads and bands are, indeed, the product of
the protoplasmic cells, built or "spun" by them, laid down by them as a
snail leaves a slimy smear behind it as it crawls. It is not difficult
to cut out transparent pieces of this "connective tissue" from a
recently killed animal and to examine it with a very high power of the
microscope. You may then see the living protoplasmic corpuscles slowly
"streaming" and changing shape, and sometimes dividing (one into two)
so as to form new corpuscles.

I made my first acquaintance with them when I was a student at
Vienna with the great microscopist Stricker. We used the glass-clear
connective tissue which forms the "cornea" of the eye, cut from a
freshly killed frog. In those days the part taken by these cells in
inflammation was being discovered, the name "phagocyte" had not been
invented, the part played by them and by bacteria in disease and
the suppuration of wounds was unknown, and I had the privilege of
introducing Lister's earliest researches on aseptic surgery and on the
coagulation of the blood to the notice of my friend and teacher.

This ubiquitous "connective tissue" underlying the skin, pushing its
way into and around every part of every structure in the body, is the
"source"--the reservoir, as it were--from which the lymph stream and
the finest lymphatic vessels take their origin. The question may very
naturally be asked, "How is it that the lymph flows along the channels
provided by the transparent lymph vessels and is poured through 'the
thoracic duct' into the great vein near the heart?" If we inject a
suitable coloured fluid by means of a needle-pointed syringe into any
mass of connective tissue, we can see the fluid pass into the numerous
lymph vessels previously invisible, and if we inject into them a
weak solution of silver nitrate we can, subsequently by aid of the
microscope, make out the structure of the walls of the lymphatics and
the lining pavement cells which become stained of a brown colour by
the silver when exposed to light. But there is no muscular envelope,
nothing like "a lymph-heart" in mammals, to drive the lymph along.
There are valves or flexible flaps in the walls of the lymph-vessels,
as there are in the veins, and the lymph is driven to the heart by the
intermittent pressure upon these valved tubes, caused by the movements
of the muscles and of the body generally. The valves, like those of
the veins, prevent the flow of the lymph backwards, but allow it to
pass forward towards the heart. This is shown by the examination of a
narcotized mammal (killed immediately after the examination has been
made). A glass tube is placed in the thoracic duct, and about a dozen
drops of lymph (which would have been delivered into the great vein)
pass from it in a minute. If, however, the animal's legs are moved,
as though in running, or if "massage" is applied to the limbs--the
pressure being directed from the extremities towards the heart--then
a greatly increased flow of lymph is observed, as much as sixty drops
in a minute! This is the chief explanation of the value to our health
of exercise, and also of the importance of "massage" as a treatment in
disease. Either exercise or massage entirely revolutionizes the rate
of flow of the lymph, quickening it so greatly that the physiological
effect on the general chemical processes going on in the body cannot
fail to be most important.

Curiously enough, whilst mammals have to depend entirely on pressure
and exercise for anything but the slowest flow of the lymph, the
cold-blooded vertebrates, fish, amphibia and reptiles (and even some
birds), have remarkable, rhythmically contracting, muscular sacs,
which pump the lymph from large lymph-vessels into large veins, and
are called "lymphatic hearts." The eel and other fish have them in the
tail, but they are best seen in the common frog. There is an anterior
pair, one under each shoulder-blade, and another pair, one on each hip.
Each opens at one end into a large "collecting" lymph-vessel, and at
the other end into a large vein. They "beat" like a heart, but do not
keep time with one another. Their muscular walls are formed by what is
called "striated" muscular tissue (as are those of the blood-heart),
and they are under the control of branches of the spinal nerves. The
movement of the hinder pair in a frog can be seen through the skin.

In man and all vertebrate animals the intestines, stomach and liver,
heart and lungs (or swim-bladder) lie loose, except for a fibrous
band of attachment, in a great cavity (often divided into two or more
chambers), which they fit fairly closely. The small space between them
and the walls of the cavity is occupied by a liquid. This is lymph, and
the great cavity is a lymph-space. When this cavity is in its primitive
form it is called the body cavity, or "cœlom." In man and mammals it
is divided into four chief chambers--the peritoneal cavity (in which
the stomach, intestine, and liver are loosely attached and have a
certain mobility), the right pleural and left pleural cavity (one for
each lung), and the pericardial cavity (for the heart). These great
chambers are part of the lymph-system, and so is the lymph-holding
space around and within the brain and spinal cord, and so are the great
spaces beneath the frog's skin.

If we look at the structure of an earth-worm or of one of the graceful
marine worms (Nereis or Arenicola), we gain a good deal of light as
to the nature of the lymphatic system of Vertebrates. Suppose you
have killed a large earth-worm with chloroform! Then pin it out on
a cork plate, and open it by a cut along the back with a fine pair
of scissors. The point of your scissors passes through the muscular
body-wall of the worm into a great chamber filled with a clear
liquid. This chamber is the "cœlom," and is the same structure as
the pleural and peritoneal chambers of the Vertebrate. But it holds
(proportionately) more liquid. The liquid is "lymph," like that of
the Vertebrate, and has numerous protoplasmic cells floating in it.
There is comparatively little connective tissue in the earth-worm. The
cœlom is free and unblocked--the great viscera lie in it. There are
some delicate, transparent bands of connective tissue, but not much nor
bulky. The wall of the cœlom itself is lined with connective tissue,
and if that tissue grew greatly in bulk, and bound all the organs and
muscles together, it would reduce the large cavity, filling it up with
spongy tissue in the small interstices of which there would be lymph.
And so we should get a lymph system resembling that of Vertebrates,
instead of one large chamber.

But what about the opening of the lymphatics into the blood-vessels?
This is one of the interesting differences between the earth-worm and
the Vertebrate. The earthworm and many marine worms have a beautiful
system of vessels, containing a bright red blood, and forming true
capillaries, connecting arteries and veins. The heart is a long,
rhythmically beating tube, extending along the whole length of the
animal just above the intestine. There is no opening into it of the
lymph-cavity. It is purely a respiratory blood-system, pumping its
fluid, coloured red by oxygen-seizing hæmoglobin into every part of
the body. It passes along the fine capillaries of the skin, where it
seizes oxygen from the outside air or water and carries it to all the
tissues. The fact is that the red respiratory element of the blood
which we call the "hæma" or hæmal portion (the Greek word for red
blood is αἷμα) is here kept separate from the nourishing and
elaborating element, the lymph or lymphatic portion. So that we should,
to be explicit, describe the blood of a vertebrate as "hæmolymph," a
conjunction of hæma and lymph, which in the more primitive earth-worm
and sea-worm have never effected a junction! In some closely allied
marine worms, however, a junction of these two is effected in another
way. We know that in the Vertebrates the red blood corpuscles are
formed by detached bits of the same tissue, which becomes converted
into capillaries, the finest blood-vessels. Now in several marine
Chætopods or bristle-footed worms (Glycera, Capitella, etc.) the
tissue which should form the blood-vascular system and its red liquid
blood, changes its mode of growth; it never forms blood-vessels at
all, but divides into free red (hæmoglobinous) cells or red blood
corpuscles, which float in the lymph of the cœlom. There is no
blood-vascular system produced in these worms, but the "cells" of the
tissue which would in other worms form blood-vessels break up into red
corpuscles, which, mixing with the lymph, bring it into the condition
of "hæmolymph," identical with the blood of Vertebrates!

In the molluscs, snails, whelks, oysters, clams, and cuttle-fishes
there is a further, variation. The same two fluids and two systems of
spaces are present as in the earth-worm, but the cœlomic space and
fluid have been nearly blocked up and obliterated by the swelling-up
and great size of the proper hæmal vessels. Only in rare cases is the
blood of molluscs coloured red by hæmoglobin, usually it is of a pale
blue colour. There is still left a pericardial cœlom, a space around
the heart, and from this some fine lymph-holding vessels ramify amongst
the tissues, but the chief spaces in the body are dilated parts of the
true hæmal system. In Insects and Crustacea (say cockroach and lobster)
this process is carried still further. The great cœlom, so well
developed in the Chætopod worms, and the Sea-urchins and Star-fishes,
and retaining quite a large development also in the Vertebrates, is
nowhere to be found. The swollen blood-vessels have squeezed it out
of existence, except for certain sack-like remnants which enclose
separately the ovaries, and the testes, and the kidneys, and have each
its opening to the exterior conveying the products of those important
organs to the outer world. Thus we gain a brief insight into the true
history of the lymphatic system and its vicissitudes in the lower
animals and in man.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE BLOOD AND ITS CIRCULATION

RED, crimson, scarlet, hot, the river of life, the carrier of all that
is good and all that is bad by its myriad streams through our bodies;
the rarest, most precious, most gorgeous of fluids; the daughter of
the salt ocean, finer and more worshipful even than the waters of the
great mother, the sea; the badge of horror and of accursed cruelty, yet
also the emblem of nobility, of generosity, of all that is near and
dear, of all that is splendid and beautiful; the blush of modesty and
the flag of rage; the giver of coral lips and glowing cheeks to youth
and health, and no less of the ruddy nose which women hide with powder
and men bravely bear without concealment! Such is the blood, and it
is no wonder that the mere sight of it has always had an overpowering
fascination for mankind.

The wild people of the Solomon Islands, when they see a drop of blood
flowing from an accidental scratch of hand or foot, say, "I must go
home; some danger is at hand; the blood has come to tell me!" Sorcerers
and witches of all times have endeavoured to procure a few drops of
the blood of their intended victims in order to "work spells" upon
the precious fluid, and so, according to the theory of "contagious
magic," upon the person from which it came. In Italy to-day, as in
this country a few hundred years ago, when some one's nose bleeds, a
Latin hymn to the blood (beautiful in its conception) begging it to
stay its flow, as it did when the soldier's spear pierced the side of
the crucified Christ, is sung. In a village in the hills near Naples I
was taken with an attack of nose-bleeding, and bathed my head with cold
water from a pretty fountain which supplied the people with its pure
stream. The women brought handsome old brass basins and embroidered
cloths of the most delicate linen for my use. I heard a strange
chanting behind my back as I stooped over the water, and when the
bleeding had ceased I found that an old man of the village had placed
two straws in the form of the cross on my shoulders, and was reciting
the ancient Latin hymn to my overflowing blood! I obtained afterwards
from a friend the words of the same hymn as used in long-ago days in
English villages.

One primitive race if not others, namely, the Australians, take a
very prosaic and business-like view of the blood. They use it as an
adhesive--a sort of liquid paste or gum, always ready to hand! In order
to fasten feathers or other decoration to a pole, the Australian "black
fellow," without wincing or hesitation, and as a matter of course,
makes a cut (with a sharp piece of stone or glass) in his own arm, and
uses the convenient blood. It also serves them as paint, as it has
served many a chieftain of European race for signing his name, and many
a prisoner for writing in the absence of ink.

There is for some people a fascination in the sight of blood which
must not be mistaken for cruelty, although it is accompanied by
dangerous and undesirable emotion. Just as other emotion-producing
experiences--such as the sight or hearing of torture, of hairbreadth
escapes, and of ghosts--produces uncontrollable repulsion and horror
in some people, and to others (or even to the same people when in
another state of health or mental balance) actually gives a pleasurable
sensation (exquisite shudderings, as the French say), so does the sight
of blood or even the mere hearing of the word "blood" act differently
on different people. Every one who has witnessed a Spanish bull-fight
knows that it is not any desire for, or enjoyment of, the sight of pain
which excites the crowded mass of spectators. There is no "cruelty,"
in the proper sense, in their state of mind, no pleasure in witnessing
pain--a thing which, terrible as it is to think of, yet does exist
naturally in mankind, and has to be, and is, repressed and absolutely
got rid of in the course of the humanizing education of civilized
mankind. The spectators of the Spanish bull-fight are primarily under
the spell or fascination of the sight of blood, and in a less degree
they are attracted by the wonderful exhibition of skill and strength
on the part of the matador and his troop. The crowd excitedly acclaims
the first drops of blood which the splendid bull is made to shed. They
buy, after he has been killed, the paper-winged darts smeared with
his blood. The colour, the mystery, and the magnificence of blood
produces in them a violent emotion. It is to them a delight, but only
a single step separates their delight from pain and actual physical
distress. The most absolutely nauseating smells are very nearly
identical with delightful perfumes, and we all know how readily a taste
may be acquired converting the former into the latter--as in the case
of the (to most people) foul-smelling East Indian fruit, the durian,
and of rotten cheese and "high" game. We also know that a sudden
revulsion of "feeling" may occur in regard to hitherto approved smells
and flavours, so that headache, vomiting, and even fainting may be
produced by a smell or flavour which was previously found a favourite
beyond all others.

So it is with this great and mysterious thing--the blood. The sight
of it nearly always produces emotion and excitement, but if these
emotions are not accompanied by an unreasoning joy and delight, they
may result in equally unreasoning and uncontrollable disgust, horror,
and often a sudden and unaccountable collapse. Some time ago in a
popular lecture on the colouring matter of the blood I had no sooner
said the word "blood" than a gentleman in the front row fainted and had
to be carried out. Men are more susceptible to this curious effect of
the sight or thought of blood than women. Often they do not know that
they are so, and are as astonished and perplexed by the sudden fainting
as are onlookers and as are, for the matter of that, physiologists and
psychologists. It is a common experience of medical men who vaccinate
adults, when there is a scare about smallpox, that at the sight of a
tiny drop of blood caused by scratching the arm with a lancet, men
frequently faint, whilst women rarely do so. Great, burly, red-coated
soldiers, and also athletic schoolboys, have been especially noted
as fainting when vaccinated. Maid-servants rarely faint under this
absurdly trivial ordeal, whilst the butler and the valet much more
frequently do so. Here is, indeed, a curious and unexpected difference
between men and women which I commend to the consideration of those who
are discussing the desirability of admitting women to the parliamentary
franchise. It is an unexplained instance of the influence of the mind
on the body, and until it is better understood, one must not conclude
that the difference is a proof of superior fitness for participation in
political affairs.

I trust that none of my readers may suddenly faint on reading this
page, but should be glad to hear of any experience of the kind. It
is readily understood when the profound impression produced by the
colour of man's blood is considered, that the great inquirer Aristotle
and a good many uninquiring people of the present day should overlook
the fact that the lower animals have blood. The insects, crustaceans,
mussels, clams, snails, and cuttle-fish, and many worms have true
blood and a heart and blood-vessels, but in most of them the blood
is colourless, or of a very pale blue tint. Hence, like the lymph
described in the preceding chapter, it escapes attention, and Aristotle
called them all "blood-less animals." The fact is, however, that not
only do they possess colourless or pale blue blood, but that the
bristle-footed worms (earth-worms and river-worms and marine Annelids)
and even the leeches possess bright red blood contained in a complete
branching network of blood-vessels, whilst here and there among the
otherwise colourless-blooded molluscs and crustaceans and insects
we find isolated instances of the possession of red blood. Thus the
flat-coiled pond-snail, Planorbis, has bright red blood, so have one
or two bivalve clams, so, too, has an insect larva (known to boys as a
blood-worm) that of the midge (Chironomus), so, too, have some small
fresh-water shrimps, and also a single species of star-fish and one
kind of sea cucumber!

I explained in the previous chapter that the blood of the vertebrates
may well be called hæmolymph, since in them the colourless, slightly
opalescent fluid called "lymph" is continually poured through certain
openings into the red blood, and mixed with it. In the earth-worm and
other lower animals the red-coloured blood, or its equivalent--the
"hæma," as distinguished from the "lymph"--is held in a closed system
of vessels, and does not receive any of the lymph. When examined with
the microscope, the blood, or hæmolymph, of man is found to consist
of an albuminous, slightly sticky liquid, in which float an immense
number of "corpuscles"--minute bodies, some rounded, some irregular,
some bun-like, and some spherical. The most abundant of these are the
"red corpuscles," of the shape of buns, slightly depressed on each
surface. Three thousand two hundred of them could be placed lying flat
side by side along the space of a measured inch. They appear pale
greenish-yellow in colour under the microscope, but in quantity, lying
one over the other, they allow only red and some blue light to pass
through them, and so have a fine red colour. They consist of a small
quantity of albuminous matter and water, and of a large proportion of
a red-coloured, crystallizable, chemical substance dissolved in them,
called hæmoglobin, or blood-red. It is this hæmoglobin which performs
one of the most important duties of the blood, since it combines
with the oxygen of the inspired air when the corpuscles are flowing
through the fine vessels of the lungs, and carries it to the tissues
in every part of the body, which greedily take the oxygen from the red
corpuscles.

The red corpuscles of man's blood and that of the hairy suckling
animals--the mammals--are not nucleated cells, but are regularly
formed and renewed as they daily wear out, as fragments of larger
mother-cells, which break up into these corpuscles, in the marrow of
the bones, and some other situations where they are found. In all
other vertebrates the red blood corpuscles have a kernel, or dense
nucleus, and are complete "cells," usually oval, smooth and flattened
in shape--a curious difference not easily accounted for. There are in
a pint of the blood of an average man about two billions of these red
corpuscles, and the amount of blood in the body is about one-twentieth
of the total weight of the body--say, in a man weighing 160 lb., about
8 lb. or pints of blood. The clear, colourless lymph existing in all
the lymph spaces of the body is probably about twelve pints. In many
animals the red corpuscles are much less numerous than in man; for
instance, a drop of human blood contains a thousand times as many red
corpuscles as does an equal-sized drop of frog's blood. It is true that
the frog's red corpuscles are a good deal bigger than those of man, but
the result is that the human blood is some hundreds of times richer in
hæmoglobin than the frog's, and has a proportionately greater power of
carrying oxygen from the lungs to the tissues, and keeping up the slow,
burning process, or oxidation, upon which the activity of the body, as
well as its warmth, depend. The body depends upon its supply of oxygen
as a steam-engine depends upon the oxygen of the air, which keeps its
coal-fire burning.

The pace of the blood-stream which is produced by the force-pump action
of the contractions or beats of the heart is tremendous. It courses
along at the rate of ten inches in a second in the big arteries and
veins, and it has been carefully ascertained by experiment that a
heartful of blood (which in a big man is about half a pint for each
half or "side" of the heart)--or let us speak of a single corpuscle--is
driven out of the heart through the great artery or aorta to the
most remote parts of the body, and is back again at the heart, after
running through endless branches of arteries, smallest capillaries,
and thence into fine veins, bigger veins, and the biggest vein, in
twenty to thirty seconds, the time occupied by twenty-five to thirty
heart-beats. The walls of the arteries are firm, though elastic, and
it is no wonder, with this tremendous pressure and pace on the liquid
within, that when an artery is cut the blood spurts out to a distance
of several feet.

The colourless liquid of the blood contains, besides the red corpuscles
floating in it, others brought to it in the lymph and derived from
various connective-tissue spaces and special nodules or "glands." They
are outnumbered by the red corpuscles in the proportion of five hundred
to one. They are colourless, and bigger than the red corpuscles.
Most of them continually change their shape, and consist of active,
moving protoplasm. These are the "phagocytes," which, besides acting
chemically upon the constituents of the blood-liquid, take into their
substance (as does the amœba or proteus-animalcule) and digest and
destroy all foreign or dead particles, and the bacteria which may
find their way into it. They pass out, forcing their way through the
excessively thin walls of the finest capillaries--blood-vessels not
wide enough to admit two of them side by side--and enter, to the
number of thousands, the tissues which have been wounded or poisoned
by bacteria, to carry on their all-important protective "scavenger" or
"police-constable" work.

Inflammation is the slowing of the blood-stream by dilatation of the
vessels at an injured spot, in order to allow the phagocytes to make
their way out of the blood-stream into the tissues, and so get to close
quarters with the enemy. There are other excessively minute dustlike
particles called "platelets," which are sometimes very abundant in
the liquid of the blood. Besides the duties of oxygen-carrying and
scavengering the blood has other great and vitally important business.
It has to distribute nutriment, to pick up waste oxidized chemical
products and get rid of them, and to distribute and equalize the heat
which it carries around the body like a perfect hot-water warming
installation.

CHAPTER XXXV

FISH AND FAST DAYS

MOST people are familiar with the fact that fasting in the Christian
Church has from early times been of two degrees--one in which no
flesh of beast or bird or fish, not even eggs, not even milk, may be
consumed, and a less severe degree in which the eating of fish is
allowed. It is not at first sight clear why the eating of fish--and
even of birds such as the Barnacle goose and the Sooty duck, supposed
to be produced from fish--has been permitted by the Christian Church,
since the flesh of fish is highly nourishing and an excellent
substitute for the meat of beasts and birds, and a man fed upon it
is far from suffering the effects of true "fasting." Many races and
out-of-the-way people live entirely upon vegetables and a little fish,
and do very well on that diet.

It has been proved by some learned inquirers that there was a special
significance about the permission by the early Christians of a fish
diet during so-called "fasting." Real and complete fasting, abstention
from all food, for a day or even a week, was and still is practised by
some Eastern peoples as a religious exercise. It is a matter of fact
that an ecstatic condition of mind is favoured by complete fasting, and
conditions favourable to illusions of various kinds are so produced.
But the later Christians seem to have regarded the partial fasting
during Lent and on certain days of the week as a sort of protest
against gluttony and excess, and there is no objection to it among
Protestant Churches excepting that it must not be claimed as a merit or
the equivalent of "good works."

That fish were, even in the most ancient times, allowed to be eaten on
fast days is curious. It is suggested by some students of this subject
that the custom came from Syria, and had to do with certain pagan
ceremonials and the worship of the fish-god Dagon. It is supposed that
some of these early Christians managed, under the guise of a fast of
the Church, to maintain an ancient pagan custom and religious rite
connected with the Syrian fish-god. The Jews also eat fish on Friday
evening--though in both cases the origin of the "fish-eating" was lost
sight of in the early centuries of the Christian era. On the other
hand, it appears that the worshippers of the fish-god (at any rate, at
a remote period) were forbidden to eat fish as being sacred; hence it
seems possible that the permission of a fish diet to Christians during
days of fasting was given as a means of encouraging those who retained
pagan superstitions to ignore and forget them. The supposition that the
eating of fish on certain days is a survival of a ceremonial observance
connected with fish-worship is the more probable explanation of the
custom.

The worship of fish or of a fish-god is one of the outcomes of the
old Nature-worship--the cult of Cybele and Rhea, who in the Greek
Islands became the great mother Aphrodite born of the sea, and in
Syria Ashtaroth (Astarte). She appears also as Atargatis, the Syrian
fish-goddess born from a fish's egg, and worshipped at Hierapolis; her
worshippers must not eat fish. Dagon, the fish-god of the Philistines,
belongs to the same group of mythologic inventions. He was half-fish
and half-human, like a merman, and is, in spite of this strange
personality identified with the Greek Adonis! The cult of the fish-god
was widely spread in ancient Greece, even in Byzantine times, and many
Christian converts were devotees of the fish worship. I have on my
table a photograph of a life-sized fish modelled in gold which was dug
up in 1883 from the shores of a lake near the coasts of the Black Sea.
It was at one time supposed to be of mediaeval workmanship, but is now
shown to be of ancient Greek workmanship (450 B.C.), and was probably a
votive offering connected with the worship of the fish-god.

Then, again, in the ancient Indian story of the Deluge we read of Manu
(who is the Noah of that variety of the ancient legend) finding a
remarkable young fish in a stream where he is bathing. The young fish
(which is really the god Vishnu in disguise) can talk, and requests
Manu to take care of it, and promises him if he does so to reveal to
him when the deluge is coming on. Manu takes the fish home and rears
it. He then is told by the fish to prepare an ark, and place on board
useful animals and seeds and then to embark on it with his family.
The ark floats away in the flood, guided by the sagacious fish, which
seizes a rope and, swimming in front of the ark, tows it to a mountain
in Armenia (Ararat!), where the vessel rests whilst the flood goes down.

There was evidently a special cult of the fish in Syria and the East,
which spread to Greece and Rome in very early pre-Christian times, and
survives in some of the stories in the "Arabian Nights" about human
beings being turned into fish. It is not surprising that this cult
should have lodged itself by obscure means in the practices of the
early Church.

The most remarkable outcome of this is the recognition of the fish as
the symbol of Christ. The letters of the Greek name for fish ΙΧΘΥΣ
(ichthus) can be interpreted as an acrostic, the component letters of
the word taken in order being the first letters of the words Ἰησοῦς
Χριστὸς Θεοῦ Υἱός, Σώτηρ (Jesous Christos Theou Uios Soter), which
are in English "Jesus Christ Son of God, Saviour." This coincidence
enabled the pagan worshippers of the fish-god to make their symbol or
"totem" (using that word in a broad sense) the symbol of the Christian
religion. Whether the use of the fish and of the letters of the
Greek name for it was or was not independently started by the early
Christians, its employment must have conciliated the fish-worshipping
pagans, and rendered it easy to bring them into the fellowship of
the Christian Church. Hence we see that a fish has more to do with
Christianity than appears at first sight. It is quite possible that
whilst the cult of the fish-god or fish-goddess may have involved at
one period of its growth an abstention from the eating of fish or of
particular species of fish as being sacred, yet the very ancient belief
in "contagious magic" and the acquirement of the qualities of a man or
an animal by eating his flesh, may have in the end prevailed and led to
the eating of fish, the sacred symbol, on the fast days prescribed by
the Church, when a special significance would be attached to such food
as was sanctioned.

The evidence of the connexion of the early Christian Church with fish
worship becomes convincing when once the importance of the great secret
cult of the "Orpheists" and its connexion both with early Christianity
and with fish worship is recognized.

It has long been known that there is a special association of the very
ancient and primitive Greek cult of Orpheus, with the much later cult
of Christianity. Many of the most important doctrines and practices
of the widely spread secret society of the Orpheists closely resemble
those of Christianity. Carvings and medals of Orpheus bringing all
animals to his feet by his music were, by the earliest Christians,
adopted as equally well representing Christ the Good Shepherd. But
recent discoveries carry the matter much further. Orpheus is one of
the names of a mythical hunter and fisherman of prehistoric times, who
taught his people music, and by his magic helped them to successful
catches of fish, and to the "netting" of beasts, as well as of fish.
His followers adopted the fish as their "totem," or sacred animal, and
they represented Orpheus (whether known by that or other names) as
the warden of the fishes, a fish-god, and himself a fish--"the great
fish"--and a "fisher of men." Fishes were kept in his temples and eaten
solemnly (at first in the raw condition), in order to transmit to his
worshippers his powers.

In Greece, where the cult of Orpheus was introduced by way of Thrace,
he became mixed with, or made a substitute for, Dionysus (the
wine-god), and the same legends were told about the one as the other.
He and his followers are pictured as wearing a fox's skin (supposed by
some to have been originally the skin of a sea-fox or shark), and the
fable of the fox and the grapes, and the very ancient story of the fox
fishing with his tail, belong to the Orpheus legends.

Very ancient peoples, earlier than the Greeks of classical times,
habitually adopted some animal as their totem and name-god--as do many
savage races to-day. Thus, the Myrmidones of Thessaly had the ant
(myrmes) as their totem, the Arcadians the bear (arctos), the Pelasgi,
who preceded the other tribes in Greece--the stork (pelargos). It is
now suggested that the Hellenes, who succeeded the Pelasgi, and gave
their name to Greece (Hellas) and to all its people, were so called
from their having the fish (ellos, the mute or silent one, a common
term applied to fish) as their "totem," and that they were, in fact,
from the first worshippers of the fish-god Orpheus, Di-orphos, Dagon or
Adonis! Other "cults" grew up among them. The whole Olympian company of
gods and goddesses were fitted out by poets and priests with man-like
forms, and with the speech, habits, and passions of humanity. But the
old deep-rooted worship of the primeval fisherman who was typified by
and identified with "the great fish"--much elaborated by its hymns
and mystic ritual, its lore, and its legend--flourished and developed
wonderfully in secret, wherever Greeks were found. Its priests were
missionaries like the mendicant friars of later days, and it was--in
pre-Christian times--the most popular cult not only in Greece and Asia
Minor, but also in Southern Italy. Hence it is easy to understand
that Christianity, by adopting the fish--the ΙΧΘΥΣ--as its
emblem, readily received sympathy and converts from the Orpheists,
and that the solemn rite of eating the fish on appointed days was
established. Hence it seems to have come about that the early Christian
Church permitted the eating of fish on most (but not on all) fast days.

Some of my readers have seen the Greek word for "a fish" stamped upon
Prayer Books, or possibly a fish embroidered on the hangings of the
church where they go to celebrate the birth and the passion of Christ,
as their ancestors have done for a thousand years. And now they will
understand the origin of the association of the sacred fish with
Christian ornament, derived from a lingering pagan reverence for the
mysterious silvery inhabitants of deep pools, great rivers, and the
sea. It is to such survivals of the now dim rituals and celebrations
of ancient days that we owe the joyful holly and the mystic mistletoe,
still happily preserved in our festivities at Christmas and New Year.

The use of fish as a regular article of diet is very widely spread.
Fresh fish is considered by medical men to be more easily digested
than the flesh of beasts or birds, and a healthy substitute for the
latter. Almost everywhere where fish are eaten, the practice of drying,
and often of salting, fish, so as to store them for consumption after
an abundant "catch," has grown up, and with it a great liking for the
flavours produced by the special chemical changes in the fish arising
from salting and drying. Ordinary putrefaction produces very powerful
poisons in the flesh of fish. They are known as "ptomaines," and are
produced in the flesh of fish more readily that in that of other
animals. But the process of drying in the sun or of salting and smoking
the fish averts the formation of these poisons. It seems, however, that
a diet of dried fish is responsible for a certain kind of poisoning in
man, which renders him liable to the attack of the terrible bacillus
of leprosy. The leprosy bacillus must get into the body by an abrasion
or crack in the skin, through contact with a person already infected.
It is known that the lack of fresh vegetable and animal food produces
the ulcerated unhealthy condition called "scurvy," and a "scorbutic"
state of the body seems to be favourable to the establishment in it of
the leprosy bacillus. The substitution of fresh meat and vegetables
as a diet in place of dried fish and salted meat has apparently been
one of the chief causes of the disappearance not only of "scurvy"
but of leprosy from Europe. Leprosy is rapidly becoming extinct in
Norway. It still survives in a few localities, and is common in several
uncivilized communities in remote regions, such as parts of Africa,
India, China, and the Pacific Islands. In an earlier chapter, p. 292,
I have referred to the disease known as "scurvy," which has become
so uncommon now as to have escaped thorough investigation by modern
pathologists.

A few marine fish are known which are highly poisonous to any and
every man, even when cooked and eaten in a perfectly fresh condition,
and there are many individuals who suffer from the "idiosyncrasy," as
it is called, of liability to be dangerously poisoned not only by the
peculiar and rare fish which are poisonous to every one, but by any and
every fish they may eat, or by two or three common kinds only. Thus,
some persons are poisoned if they eat lobster or crab, or oysters or
mussels, but can tolerate ordinary fish. Others are poisoned, without
fail, by mackerel and by grey mullet, but not by sole or salmon. The
symptoms resemble those produced in ordinary persons by the "ptomaines"
of putrid fish, and seem to be due to the presence even in fresh fish
of a kind of ptomaine which some persons cannot destroy by digestion,
whilst most persons can do so. It is literally true that "What is one
man's meat is another man's poison."

The use as a "relish" of the little fish, the anchovy--allied to
the sprat and the herring--preserved in salt liquor in a partially
decomposed state, but not undergoing the ordinary chemical change
excited by the bacteria of putrescence, is remarkable and very widely
spread. Anchovy sauce is made by mashing up such chemically decomposed
anchovies, and is one of the very greatest and most approved of all
sauces. The anchovy is a Mediterranean fish; it is taken in small
numbers in sprat-nets in the English Channel and in the Dutch Zuyder
Zee. So-called "Norwegian anchovies" are not anchovies, but are small
sprats. When taken fresh and cooked and eaten, the anchovy has a very
bitter, unpleasant flavour, which can be washed out of it by splitting
the fresh fish and letting it lie in salt and water. It was this
practice of washing out the bitterness which led the Mediterranean
fisher-folk to discover that if left for some time in moderately
strong brine the anchovy develops a wonderfully appetizing flavour,
and becomes dark red in colour, whilst the liquid also becomes red.
I believe that, although it would be easy to do so, it has not been
ascertained whether the red colour is due to a direct action of the
salt upon the blood-pigment of the fish--as is the red colour of salt
beef--or whether it is due to a special red-colour-making bacterium,
as is the case with salted dried cod, which is sometimes rendered
unsaleable by this red growth. However that may be, the red colour
of the preserved anchovy is well known, and is produced by dealers
by means of artificial pigments, if not already naturally present in
the salted fish as they come to market. No one would guess on tasting
a really fresh bitter anchovy that it could develop the fine flavour
which it does when soaked in brine to get rid of its bitterness.

Another little fish, the Bummaloh, or "Bombay duck" (Harpodon), is
taken in large quantities off the West Coast of India, and is dried
and used for the peculiar flavour thus developed, which is quite
different from that of the anchovy. It is a deep-water fish, and is
phosphorescent. The liking for the flavours developed in these fishes
by various bacteria when specially treated, is similar to that which
necessity and custom has developed in our attitude to cheese. Fresh
cheese is difficult to obtain. Habit has ended in our preferring stale,
decomposed cheese, which has developed a whole series of flavours by
the action on it of special bacteria and moulds. The Roman soldiers
of the first century used a small salted fish (probably enough the
anchovy) to eat with their rations of bread, and such fish were usually
sold with bread. Probably the small "fishes" which, together with a
dozen loaves of bread, are stated to have been used in the miraculous
feeding of the multitude by Christ, were salted anchovies.

Dealers in Norwegian preserved fish not only falsely call small sprats
by the name "Anchovy" in order to sell them, but they have recently
prepared sprats in the manner invented by French fish-curers for the
preparation of the young Pilchard. The French name for young Pilchard
is "Sardines," and their Italian name even in Sir Thomas Browne's time
(1646) was "Sardinos." The natural fine quality of the sardine and
the skilful "tinning" and flavouring of it by the French "curers" of
Concarneau in Brittany, have made it celebrated throughout the world as
a delicacy. The dealers in Norway sprats--for the purpose of passing
off on the public a cheap, inferior kind of fish as something much
better--have recently stolen the French curers' name of "Sardine," and
coolly call their sprats "Sardines." The sprats thus cured are soft and
inferior in quality to the true sardines, which are a less abundant and
therefore more costly species of fish. The fraudulent use in this way
of the name "Sardine" has been condemned by the law courts in London,
but the punishment for such fraud is so small and the profit to the
fraudulent dealers is so great that our French friends have to submit
to the iniquity.

CHAPTER XXXVI

SCIENCE AND THE UNKNOWN

IT is a remarkable fact that although the first efforts of the
founders of the Royal Society for the Promotion of Natural Knowledge,
two hundred and fifty years ago, in this country, and of other such
associations on the Continent, had the immediate effect of destroying
a large amount of that fantastic superstition and credulity which had
until then prevailed in all classes of society, and although that
period marks the transition from the astounding and terrible nightmares
of the Middle Ages to a happier condition when witchcraft, sorcery, and
baseless imaginings concerning natural things gave place to knowledge
founded on careful observation and experiment--yet the ugly baleful
relic of savagery died hard, even in the most civilized communities.

In spite of all the light that has been shed upon obscure processes,
and all the triumphs of the knowledge of "the order of Nature," there
remains to this day in this country a surprising amount of ignorance,
accompanied by blind unreasoning devotion to traditional beliefs in
magic, and a love of the preposterous fancies of a barbarous past,
simply because they are preposterous! "There is something in it," is
a favourite phrase, and the words put by Shakespear into the mouth
of the demented Hamlet, who thinks he has seen and conversed with a
ghost, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are
dreamed of in your philosophy," are gravely quoted as though they were
applicable to the Horatios of to-day. We have no reason to suppose that
there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our
philosophy. Those who inappropriately quote this saying as though it
were proverbial wisdom are usually persons of very small knowledge, and
mistake their own limitations for those of mankind in general.

The real and effective answer to all such head-shakings and airs of
mystery is to demand that the reputed marvel shall be brought before
us for examination. The method of the disciples of the founders of the
Royal Society is not to deny or to assert possibilities. They hold
it to be futile to discuss why such and such a thing should _not_
exist, and still worse to conclude that it does exist, or to hold its
existence to be probable, because you cannot say why it should not
exist. The real question is, "Does it exist? Is it so?" And the only
way of dealing with that question is to have the marvel brought before
you and subjected to examination and test. "Nullius in verba!" The mere
statement of dozens of witnesses merely gives you as a thing to explain
or account for, not the marvel reported, but the fact that certain
persons say or are reported to say that it does. What you have to
examine, in the absence of the marvel itself, is, "How is it that these
people make this statement?" You must inquire into the capacities and
opportunities of the witnesses. There are several possible and probable
answers to that inquiry. For instance, it may be that the witnesses are
merely inaccurate, or are self-deceived, or deceived by the trickery
or credulity of others, or are insane, or are deliberately stating
what is false. Another and often the least probable answer is that the
witnesses or reporters state what they do because it is the simple
truth. The statements made have to be accounted for by one or other of
these hypotheses or suggestions, and each suggestion as to the origin
of the statements must be tested by reference to independent facts in
order to dismiss or to confirm it.

The whole of what is called "modern occultism," including spiritualism,
second-sight, thought transference (so-called telepathy),
crystal-gazing, astrology, and such mysteries, can only be treated
reasonably in the way I have mentioned. We ask for a demonstration
of the occurrence of the mysterious communications or prophecies, or
"raps" or "levitations," or whatever it may be. Lovers of science have
never been unwilling to investigate such marvels if fairly and squarely
brought before them. In the very few cases which have been submitted
in this way to scientific examination, the marvel has been shown to be
either childish fraud or a mere conjurer's trick, or else the facts
adduced in evidence have proved to be entirely insufficient to support
the conclusion that there is anything unusual at work, or beyond the
experience of scientific investigators.

It is unfortunately true that most persons are quite unprepared to
admit the deficiencies of their own powers of observation and of
memory, and are also unaware of their own ignorance of perfectly
natural occurrences which continually lead to self-deception and
illusion. Moreover, the capacity for logical inference and argument
is not common. The whole past and present history of what is called
"the occult" is enveloped in an atmosphere of self-deception and of
readiness to be deceived by others to which misplaced confidence in
their own cleverness and power of detecting trickery renders many--one
may almost say most--people victims. The physician who has given his
life to the study of mental aberration and diseases of the mind is the
only really qualified investigator of these "marvels," and no one who
has closely studied what is known in the domain of mental physiology
and pathology has any difficulty in understanding, and bringing into
relation with large classes of established facts as to illusions and
mental aberration, the "beliefs" in magic and second-sight which are
here and there found flourishing at the present day, as well as the,
at first sight startling, evidence of highly accomplished men who have
suffered from such delusions.

Leaving aside all these more extreme cases of what we may call
"challenges" to science, let me cite one or two of the more ordinary
classes of cases in which science is either attacked or treated with
disdain by modern wonder-mongers. It was declared by a writer in the
eighteenth century that, after all, human knowledge is a very small
thing, since we cannot even tell on one day what the weather is
going to be on the next; still less can we control it. That remains
perfectly true to-day, although by the hourly observation and record
of the movements of "areas of depression" in the atmosphere and the
telegraphic communication of these records from all parts of the
Atlantic region of the northern hemisphere to central stations, a very
important degree of accuracy in foretelling gales, and even minor
changes of weather, has been reached. Side by side with this organized
study of the movements of "weather" we still have the so-called
"almanacs," in which, as in the days of old, certain wizards claim to
foretell the weather of a year, as well as other events. It is less
surprising that these wizards should find believers when one discovers
that there are actually well-to-do, "half-educated" people in England
who believe at this day that the delightful clever exhibitors of
mechanical tricks and sleight-of-hand are really (as they usually are
called) "conjurers"--that is to say, that they conjure spirits and use
the "black art." Not long ago, having published my experience of the
trickery of "dowsers," and the illusion known as the "divining-rod," I
received a letter in which my correspondent related that, being in the
coffee-room of an hotel in a country town, he was asked by a man who
was there to stretch out his hand. He did so, and the man placed four
coppers in a pile upon it. The man then took up an empty matchbox which
happened to be on the table, and placed it over the coppers as they lay
on my correspondent's hand. After an interval of three or four seconds
the man lifted the matchbox, and the coppers were gone! This, which I
need hardly say is one of the most common "conjuring tricks" familiar
to every schoolboy, was, according to my correspondent, proof to him
that the man possessed powers "not dreamed of in your philosophy," and
that such powers and those of discovery by use of the divining-rod and
similar occult arts are possessed by many gifted beings!

It is to be hoped that such credulity is not very common--it is
difficult to form an estimate as to its prevalence, for it breaks out
in different directions in different individuals. The more impudent
quack remedies for various diseases have had believers amongst all
classes of society--and occasionally some enthusiast bursts out with
indignation in a letter to the papers, complaining that men of science
or the medical profession neglect their duty to the public and refuse
to examine the wonderful cure. In all these cases the cure is either
a drug which is perfectly well known and practically worthless for
the treatment of the disease for which it is recommended, or--as in
the case of the celebrated "blue electricity" and "red electricity"
(nonsensical names in themselves) sold by an Italian swindler as a
cure for cancer and patronized by aristocratic ladies and the late
Mr. Stead--is found to be absolutely non-existent. In this last case
the liquid sold in little bottles at a high price was nothing but
plain water! A more respectable case was the advocacy a few weeks
ago by a correspondent in a morning paper of a common African plant
(a kind of basil) as a sure destructive or warder-off of mosquitoes
when grown near human habitations, and therefore a protective against
malaria. Nothing could have been more emphatic than the declaration of
the value of this plant by its advocate. But a few days afterwards a
letter appeared from a scientific man, giving an account of careful and
varied experiments, already made and published, which show that this
basil, although containing in its leaves "thymol," as do some other
aromatic herbs, yet neither when grown in quantity nor when crushed and
spread out in a room has any effect whatever in checking the access of
mosquitoes and other flies! In this case, the reputed medical marvel
was to hand: it was dealt with, tested, and, as they say in the old
register of the Royal Society, "was found faulty."

CHAPTER XXXVII

DIVINATION AND PALMISTRY

THE gradual passage of the race of man from the condition of "beasts
that reason not" to that of "persons of understanding and reason"
has been an immensely long and a very painful one. It is not yet
complete--is far, indeed, from being so--even amongst the most favoured
classes of the most highly civilized peoples of to-day. Just as our
bodily evolution and adaptation to present conditions is incomplete
and exhibits what Metchnikoff has called "disharmonies"--that is,
retentions of ancestral structures now not only useless, but even
positively injurious--so does the mental condition attained by
civilized man (if we do not limit our observation to exceptional
instances) exhibit a retention--by means of records and accepted
teaching--of beliefs and tendencies which were among the first
products of the blundering efforts of human reason, and have caused
atrocious suffering to millions of human beings in the long process
of mental development. At one time the whole race lived in a world of
delusions and fantastic beliefs--the outcome of false or defective
observation rather than of false logic. These false conclusions as to
many subjects were inevitable as soon as man began to reason at all.
It was the necessary and injurious accompaniment of the growing habit
of "reasoning" by which the more fortunate races have eventually been
brought, step by step, to correct conclusions and a dominant position
at the present day. The progress from the almost universal prevalence
of an enormous system of preposterous false beliefs or conclusions
onward to the triumph of sound knowledge has not only taken an immense
period of time, but left whole races of men and large sections of
the population--even in those races which have produced individuals
remarkable for their power of discovering the truth--still subject
to the early erroneous conceptions of natural processes and of man's
relation to them.

The conclusion certainly seems to be justified that the most advanced
animal progenitors of mankind, who lived and died unreasoning, the
mere puppets of natural forces which they neither could, nor tried
to, understand and control, were "happier" than the "rebel" man when
he first conceived the notion that he could detect cause and effect,
not only as between a blow and the production of a serviceable flint
implement, but in the beneficent or injurious relations of the things
around him to one another and to himself. Primitive men seem at a very
remote period to have elaborated in regard to such vital matters a
series of conclusions--differing in various races according to place
and circumstance--to which they were led by erroneous observation and
imperfect reasoning--reasoning which was arrested and distorted by
fear, desire, haste, and imagination. The word "magic" is now used to
indicate those beliefs and conclusions in all their variety, because
the "magi" or priests of Zoroaster (Zarathustra), the founder of the
religion of the ancient Persians, taught them in an elaborated form,
and practised a system of supposed control of natural forces and of
spirits, good and evil, in connexion with such beliefs. Magic is,
therefore, defined as the general term for the practice and power of
wonder-working as dependent on the employment of supposed supernatural
or "occult" agencies. It forms a vast field of study and one of the
greatest interest in the attempt to follow out the history of the
workings of the human mind, its extraordinary envelopment in error and
delusion, and its gradual emancipation therefrom.

In origin "magic" and "religion" are one. The priest and the magician
were originally one. Man tried to control Nature by the use of spells
and fantastic procedures, based on imagined powers and correspondences
in natural objects. He excogitated (as a modern child sometimes does)
a sort of fancifully assumed system of fixed laws of natural relations
and interactions, of causes and effects which were suggested by
superficial likenesses and wild guesses at connexion and sequence,
accepted without criticism. Thus, we have the widespread doctrines
of "sympathetic magic" and of "contagious magic." An example of the
first is the belief that a certain tree or animal is the sympathetic
representative of a certain man, and that as the one flourishes or
suffers and dies so will the other. This is extended into a belief that
a drawing or image, or even an unshaped stone, may sympathetically
represent a man or an animal. The American medicine-man draws the
picture of a deer on a piece of bark, and expects that shooting at
it will cause him to kill a real deer the next day. He mistakes a
connexion which exists only in the mind of the sorcerer for a real
bond independent of the human mind. Thus, too, waxen or clay images
of an enemy are made and melted before fire or wasted in water, or
pierced with pins (even at this day in Scotland, as witness a clay
figure in the museum at Oxford), in the belief that the enemy himself
will be similarly injured. The belief in "contagious magic" leads
to the procuring of a drop of the blood, or of a piece of the hair,
the toenails, the clothing, or even a part of the unconsumed food of
another individual, in order that a sorcerer may, by acting upon it or
repeating "incantations" over it, influence the actions and life of
that individual for good or for ill.

But besides the many forms of these two kinds of magic, there is a
later variety of magic which grew up with what is not a primitive
belief, namely, the belief in the existence of spiritual beings
inhabiting trees, rocks, waters, and animals. It developed further with
the later belief in the existence of ghosts or spirits of the dead.
Fear and the desire to control hostile unseen forces was the motive of
all magic. The magician invented "spells," "rites," and "ceremonies"
for controlling and bending these spirits to his will. But as a still
later development, we find more and more definitely separated from the
magician and his spells--the priest, who learnt humility in the face
of might greater than his own, and, abandoning the attempt to coerce,
adopted the attitude of propitiation and prayer, and prostrated himself
before a higher power. Thus (as Dr. Marret writes) religion gradually
became separated from magic, though often mixed with it, and often
retaining magical elements. Religious cults became publicly recognized,
established, and respectable, whilst "magic" became private, secret,
disreputable, and at last openly condemned and suppressed by the
priests of religion. The history of magic in Europe, Asia, Africa, and
America presents an almost unlimited field of study. We find remarkable
agreements in the fundamental notions on which magic is based in all
parts of the world and also important differences in details and
special developments.

Divination is that branch of magic which attempts to _discover_
secrets or to foresee events, whilst magic in general is an attempt
to _influence_ the course of events. Divination is the process of
attempting to obtain knowledge of secret or future things by means
of oracles, omens, or astrology. One of its methods is "necromancy,"
the supposed communication with the spirits of the dead. This word
is formed from the Greek words "nekros," a corpse, and "manteia,"
divination; but in Latin it was erroneously written "nigromantia," and
so gave rise to the application of the name "the black art" to sorcery
and witchcraft in general. By the ancient Greeks and Romans all omens,
as well as oracles, were regarded as sent by the gods, and in ancient
Rome a large and wealthy corporation of augurs who were constantly
consulted by private individuals as well as by the State existed.
They received regular "fees" for their services in interpreting and
seeking for omens. The orthodox belief has always been either that the
soothsayer is directly controlled by a god or a spirit, or, on the
other hand, that the material objects inspected and regarded as signs
of the future are controlled by the gods or by spirits, so as to afford
information. Divination is, and has been, practised in all grades of
civilization and culture, from the Australian "black fellow" to the
American medium. Amongst its many varieties are (1) crystal gazing,
a method similar to that of dreams, excepting that the vision is set
up voluntarily by gazing into a crystal ball or a basin of water; (2)
shell-hearing; (3) the divining-rod in its various forms; (4) sieve,
ring, and Bible swinging; (5) automatic writing; (6) sand divination,
widely practised in Africa; (7) trance-speaking; (8) the examination
of the hand, or palmistry; (9) card-laying; (10) the interpretation
of dreams; (11) the casting of lots, or sortilege; (12) the drawing
of texts from the Bible or from Virgil (the 'sortes Virgilianæ' of
old times); (13) the inspection of the entrails of animals freshly
killed (haruspication), and the study of footprints; (14) augury by
omens, such as the behaviour and cry of birds, and the meeting with
ominous animals; and lastly (15 and 16), the two highly elaborated and
pretentious systems of astrology (divination by the stars) and geomancy
(divination by the lie of hills and rivers). In the case of astrology
the stars are believed not merely to prognosticate the future, but also
to influence it, and the latter is the special feature of geomancy,
practised in China, where no house or other building can be erected
without a certificate as to its favourable position in regard to
"magic" by the professional "geomancer," who has to be paid his fee,
and thus takes the place of the local government surveyor and sanitary
officer of Western Europe.

In the exercise of these arts of divination there is no doubt
that, owing to the concentration of his attention on the thing
to be inspected the operator is, in many kinds of divination,
"self-hypnotized," or brought into that well-known mental condition in
which the unconscious memory and other special mental processes are
active, whilst an exaggerated acuteness of the senses is produced.
In other cases the person who consults the "operator" may be so
influenced. Hallucination of one kind and another is therefore likely
to occur, and thus mystery and apparently marvellous results are not
inconsistent with the good faith of the operator. But there is no
reason to doubt that the modern sorcerers who make money by their
pretended divinations are rogues and impostors of a particularly
dangerous and injurious variety.

Palmistry or chiromancy is one of the oldest of the large family of
systems for foretelling the future. It existed in China 4000 years ago,
and is treated in the most ancient Greek writings as a well-known
belief. The gipsies probably brought it with them from India. Those
who practise palmistry pretend that by the inspection and proper
interpretation of the various irregularities and flexion-folds of the
skin of the hand the mental or moral dispositions and powers of an
individual can be discovered, and not only that, but that the current
of future events in the life of an individual are indicated by them.
To this it is customary to add nowadays the pretence of a revelation
by these same markings of events in the past life of their owner. It
is only what we might have expected that primitive man, seeking for
signs and occult mysteries, should have found in the varying folds of
the hand--"the organ of organs"--something to excite his tendency to
attribute magical importance to what he could not simply explain. The
folds of the skin on the palmar surface of the hand are, as a matter
of fact, so disposed that the thick loose skin shall be capable of
bending in grasping, whilst it is held down to the skeleton of the
hand by fibrous lines of attachment, so as to prevent its slipping and
the consequent insecurity of grip. The swellings bounded by the lines
of folding and fixture are called "monticuli" by the palmist, and are
simply subcutaneous fat, which acts as a padding, or cushioning, and
projects between the lines of fibrous attachment of the skin to the
deeply placed bones. They differ slightly in different individuals, as
do other structures.

These same lines and monticuli are present in the hands and feet of the
chimpanzee and other man-like apes, and were specially exhibited under
my direction in the upper gallery of the Natural History Museum. But
no palmist ever read the ape's hand, although, according to the great
and authoritative treatises on palmistry, it would be perfectly easy
to do so, since every variation in the lines and the monticules has
been mechanically dealt with, and its supposed indications precisely
determined by a formal set of rules. There are similar lines on
that part of the foot in human infants and in the adult apes which
corresponds to the palmar surface. But no palmist has attempted to deal
with them. The fact is that the attributions indicated by such names as
the line of heart, the line of life, the line of the head, and the line
of fortune are purely arbitrary, as are those of the monticules Venus,
Jupiter, Saturn, the Sun, Mercury, Mars, and the Moon. In past times
there have been great divergences in their interpretation by different
schools, and the present uniformity is as devoid of any conceivable
relation to fact as were the former divergences. It is impossible to
discuss the asserted correlation of the lines and monticules of the
hand with either character or life-history, since no facts are offered
in support of the notion that there is such a correlation. We have bare
assertion, and nothing more, as in most of the other doctrines of magic.

The shape of the hand and of the fingers, and the softness, hardness,
dryness, and moisture of the skin are taken into account by most
palmists. Few, if any, of those who pretend at the present day to
"read" a hand are really acquainted with the elaborate rules laid down
by the painstaking, if deluded, people who endeavoured to construct a
sort of astrology of the hand by assigning the names of heavenly bodies
to parts of it. The modern professional palmist forms a judgment and
guess as to his or her client's character and probable past and future
history by indications and information obtained from the client's face,
manner, conversation, costume, and personal acquaintance. If a vague
prophecy made by the "fortune-teller" should by hazard turn out to be
near the truth, it is remembered and quoted by the client as a proof
of the truth of palmistry; if it does not prove to be correct, it is
forgotten.

The question of the possibility of judging of the character and
disposition of a man or woman by the form and proportions of the
hand or the foot is altogether distinct from that of the reality of
"divination" of future events by applying a system of rules to the
interpretation of the lines and swellings of the palmar surface.
Persons of quick perception are in the habit of forming judgments as to
character from a first impression of the face, expression, voice, and
movements of another individual. Often such judgments are erroneous,
and I do not know that they have ever been proved by a large series of
experiments to be more frequently right than wrong. But it is possible
that correct indications may sometimes be thus obtained. Many people
think that they can form more or less correct judgments as to certain
mental characteristics by observing the shape and play of the hand and
fingers or of the foot. There may be such a correlation of the gesture
and form of hands or feet with some mental qualities, but obviously
this has nothing to do with palmistry. It has never been really proved
that persons of what is called "good birth" have smaller hands and feet
than persons of "low birth," although it is often assumed that they
have. And it has never been shown why small hands and feet should go
with "good birth," supposing that they do so, or why some people have
large and some small extremities. The possible effect of certain manual
occupations in enlarging the hands of an individual is, of course,
excluded; the question raised is as to naturally or hereditarily small
hands and feet.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

TOADS FOUND LIVING IN STONE

IT is quite true that one should not refuse to entertain the
possibility of something almost incredible taking place, simply because
it is highly improbable that it has taken place. Also it is important
that one should not accept and believe in the reality of the marvellous
occurrence, merely because a decent sort of person has asserted that he
has witnessed it and is satisfied of its reality. In a previous chapter
(p. 117) we have seen how the story of the Tree goose and the hatching
of geese from Barnacles was supported by respectable but incompetent
witnesses such as Gerard, the herbalist, and Sir Robert Moray, the
first president of the Royal Society. There are many equally baseless
fancies which are attested by "respectable" witnesses at the present
day.

The statement that workmen splitting large blocks of stone in the
quarries have seen a toad hop out of a cavity in the interior of
the stone attracted a good deal of attention in the earlier half of
last century. I do not know whether it can be traced to any great
antiquity. I see no reason to doubt the truth of the statement in
its simple form as given above. It has, I have no doubt, repeatedly
happened--as letters to newspapers and in earlier days serious
pamphlets record--that on splitting a block of stone the workmen
engaged in the operation have seen a toad emerge from the broken mass.
The fact is that the rocks in many stone quarries are "fissured" or
cracked, so that a narrow space or "crack" extends through many feet
of thickness of rock to the surface, which is covered by vegetable
mould. Occasionally, owing to rain and flood, the mould is washed
away, and some of it carried into the cracks or fissures in the rock.
Occasionally a young toad is carried from the surface into such a
fissure and far down its sides, and eventually lodges 20 feet or
more in the thickness of the rock. The same circumstances which have
carried the toad into the fissure carry in also from time to time small
worms, grubs, insects, on which the toad may feed, but in any case
the far-spreading though narrow fissure will hold plenty of air and
moisture, and even without food a toad can remain alive for several
months provided that the temperature is about that of a cool autumn
day, its surface kept moist and the air also. Hence it is in accordance
with recognized conditions that occasionally quarrymen should "get
out" a block of stone deep below the surface in a stone quarry which
is traversed by a fissure or has a small natural cavity in it (as
limestone and other rocks often have) communicating with a fissure, and
that when they break the stone and accidentally open the fissure or
connected cavity a healthy living toad is found ensconced in it. The
recent washing of clay and powdered stone into the fissure by rain and
flood sometimes may hide its existence from the casual observation of
the workmen, and the soft material washed in may even be found fitting
closely to the toad's body. And thus it will appear that the toad is
very closely embedded in the solid stone.

Probably no one would have cared very much a couple of hundred
years ago if toads were constantly present in the centre of solid
stones. Toads were regarded as queer, dangerous things connected with
witchcraft, and there was no accounting for their behaviour. The view
taken by the well-to-do class would have been in those days (as perhaps
it would be less generally to-day) similar to that of the Chicago
millionaire when shown, by means of the spectroscopic examination of
light, the proof of the existence of the metal sodium in the sun.
The professor who took the millionaire round his laboratory wished
to interest him in the discoveries of science, and hoped that he
might contribute to the funds necessary to pay for the elaborate and
delicate instruments by which such discoveries are made. He showed many
remarkable experiments to his visitor, and wound up by showing him
the two narrow lines of yellow light caused by incandescent sodium.
He showed him how exactly their position in the spectrum could be
fixed and measured; how they caused two black lines in the spectrum
of light, which was made to traverse a flame in which incandescent
sodium was present. And then he showed him that in the spectrum of the
sun's light there were two black lines (besides thousands of others)
which exactly coincide with the two sodium lines; whilst others of the
black lines in the solar spectrum coincide with bright lines given
out by incandescent hydrogen, iron, magnesium, etc. The millionaire
followed it all and understood the completeness of the demonstration.
The professor was delighted and hopeful. Then the millionaire said,
"Who the hell cares if there is sodium in the sun?" I was not told by
the disappointed professor (it was Professor Michelson, and he related
this little episode at a dinner of the Royal Society) what reply he
made to this inquiry or whether he was eventually successful in his
attempt to secure funds from the millionaire. The attitude which the
millionaire took towards scientific discovery is not a natural one, but
the result of the stifling of natural interest and curiosity by long
concentration on the art and practice of money-making. So, too--owing
to other mental pre-occupations and concentrations--though a boy or a
savage might have been puzzled and deeply interested in the occurrence
of a live toad in the middle of an apparently solid piece of rock, the
"country gentleman" of the eighteenth century would have said, if the
matter had been pressed on his attention, "Who the hell cares if there
are live toads in the rocks?" And a large but decreasing number of his
representatives to-day would make the same remark.

It, however, happened that at the beginning of the nineteenth century
a spirit of inquiry into the history of the crust of our earth was set
going. The science of geology was eagerly pursued by many capable men,
both abroad and in this country. The Geological Society of London was
founded in 1809. The doctrine of the vast age of the earth and the
demonstration of successive layers of deposit--forming its rocks and
containing the remains of strange and of gigantic animals unlike those
now existing--excited widespread interest and controversy. Buckland
introduced the study of geology in Oxford. Lyell was his pupil, and
became the great teacher and exponent of geological theory in a series
of masterly treatises, written in such form that they appealed during
half a century to educated men of all professions and occupations. The
country clergy and their friends gave themselves with enthusiasm to the
investigation of strata and the collection of fossils. Now came the
opportunity of the toad embedded in stone!

It is not worth while inquiring who was the first to make the
suggestion, but it very soon became one of the favourite assertions
of the wonder-mongers who hang on to the skirts of science--not to
be confused with the enthusiastic nature-lover--that the living
toads found in blocks of stone, and sometimes in lumps of coal, are
thousands of years old, contemporary with the geologic age of the rocks
in which they are found embedded, survivors of the extinct animals
whose bones and teeth the geologists had discovered and described,
also embedded in such rocks! This entirely baseless fancy took root,
and has flourished ever since the early Victorian period. Only a few
months ago there were paragraphs in the papers on the discovery of a
live toad of antediluvian age in a block of stone. Old gentlemen have
repeatedly written to the newspapers, and sometimes privately to me,
describing how they had, on breaking an unusually large lump of coal
in the dining-room coal-scuttle, liberated from an age-long prison
an antediluvian toad, which hopped out from the lump of coal in a
marvellous state of health and agility. Whenever any discussion has
arisen with regard to these statements, and such an explanation offered
as I have given above as to the apparent enclosure of a toad in a piece
of rock, or a similar explanation as to the encasement of one in the
black mud adhering to lumps of coal stacked in sheds or cellars--some
of the would-be believers in the immense age of the liberated toads
appeal to the fact that amongst the most remarkable extinct animals
whose bodies are found in ancient strata are reptiles, whilst others,
more learned, insist on the well-known prevalence of the remains of
animals of the class Amphibia, to which the toad belongs, in the "Coal
Measures."

The answer to these rash believers in what they call "the evidence
of their own senses" and the disentombment of living specimens of the
ancient world from lumps of stone or of coal--apart from that given
by the fact that there is complete absence of any proof that the toad
before liberation was really and truly encased in a stony chamber to
which it could not, by any possibility, have recently gained access--is
that the common toad, which is thus discovered and supposed to be a
survivor of long past geologic ages, is a modern production of Nature's
great breeding establishment. It is quite easy to distinguish it from
all other living species of toads; it is spread over a limited area,
existing in the north temperate region of our hemisphere in many parts
of which it is replaced by other similar but distinct species. If we
ask what is known of it in past ages as revealed by the Pliocene,
Miocene, and Eocene strata, we find that it did not exist at all in
the latest of these, but was represented by ancestors like it, yet
markedly different. Remains of a kind of toad are found in the Upper
Eocene "phosphorite" of the South of France, and in 1903 such remains
were found in an oolitic deposit. As we descend further the series of
geologic strata, the remains of toads and frogs cease to occur. In the
coal measures they were represented by ancestors provided with tails
like the newts and salamanders of our own day. They had not come into
existence, nor, probably, had any creature closely resembling them, at
that period. In the "Coal Measures" we find abundant remains of very
large and also of small animals related to salamanders, newts, and
less closely to toads, but they are in great and important features of
structure unlike the Amphibia and Batrachia of to-day. Hence the notion
which lay at the bottom of the excitement caused by the discovery of
live toads in the interior of rocks or of coal--namely, that the
creature was a survivor from the lost world of extinct "antediluvian"
animals--falls to the ground. It has no better claim to attention than
the similar but perhaps bolder statement indulged in from time to time
by an inventive transatlantic Press, namely, that "some workmen on
blasting a rock in the quarries at Barnumsville were astonished by the
escape from a cavity within the solid rock of a large flying lizard or
pterodactyle, which immediately spread its wings and flew out of sight."

Connected with these fancies is the theory that the traditional
dragon of heraldry and of the Chinese is a memory handed down to the
present day from immensely remote times, when--so we are asked to
believe--man co-existed with the great extinct dragon-like creatures
known as pterodactyles (see "Science from an Easy Chair," First Series;
Methuen, 1910). As a matter of fact the heraldic dragon does not
closely resemble the pterodactyle or other extinct reptiles, and is an
imaginative creation of human artists based upon the realities of the
great pythons of India and the little parachute lizard (8 inches long)
of the same region, known to zoologists as Draco volans. The close
agreement of this little lizard with European heraldic representations
of the dragon is conclusive as to the origin of the details of form
and appearance assigned to that legendary beast, though the great
size ascribed to it and the terror associated with it is traceable to
the great snakes of the Far East--"drako" being the Greek word for a
serpent. And further, there is very good ground for concluding that a
long interval of geologic ages separates the disappearance of the great
extinct reptiles and the pterodactyles from the appearance, on this
globe, of the earliest man-like apes, and no reason to suppose that the
latter could have handed on any knowledge of such extinct reptiles to
their descendants, even had they seen such creatures.

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE DIVINING-ROD

THE divining-rod, spoken of by the Romans as "virgula divina," and
mentioned by Cicero and by Tacitus, was a different thing altogether
from the modern forked twig of the water-finder, and seems to be of
immemorial antiquity. Its use in "divination" was similar to that
practised with a ring or a sieve suspended by a string. When the rod
is thrown into the air and falls to the ground, or when the suspended
object is set moving, it eventually comes to rest, and when thus at
rest must point in one particular direction. It was supposed that gods
or spirits invoked at the moment guided the movement and final position
of rest, so as to make the divining-rod or ring or sieve point to
buried treasure, to an undetected murderer, or to a witch or wizard who
had used magic arts to injure the person seeking its aid. Bits of stick
are so used at the present day by some savage races. The notion leading
to its use is the same as that which has led to augury by inspection of
an animal's entrails, by the flight of birds, and other such varying
appearances. The notion is that an unseen protective power will, when
properly invoked, interfere with the blindly varying thing and make it
vary so as to give indications either of hidden objects or of future
events. The unseen power which thus revealed itself was primitively
supposed to be that of a god or a spirit, but later the augur or
intermediary who worked the "show" acquired exclusive importance and
arrogated to himself mysterious powers. The same transference of
importance has come about in the case of the modern hazel-twig and the
"douser," who now claims to "divine" without its aid.

The tossing of a halfpenny to decide as to alternative courses of
action, still almost universally prevalent in this country, is in
origin (and largely in actual practice) an appeal to supernatural
powers to give an indication by interference with the natural fall of
the coin, as to which of the alternative courses is the more favourable
to the interests of the individual who tosses the coin or agrees to
follow its decision if tossed by someone else. "Heads I go; tails I
stay where I am." Of a like nature is the drawing of lots, and so
are a number of similar practices originally devised for the purpose
of obtaining guidance from supernatural sources. Some of them have
survived without any associated superstition, and are commonly used
at the present day merely in order to obtain an impersonal decision
as to which of two or more claimants is to enjoy a certain privilege
or exemption, as, for instance, when a coin is tossed to decide as to
which side of the river at the start shall be occupied by competitors
in a boat race, or which shall have choice of innings in a cricket
match, or as when lots are drawn to determine who shall enjoy exemption
from military service. But even in these cases there are large numbers
of men and women who believe that some mysterious power which could
possibly be won over to their side, or else what they call "a special
providence," determines the issue. There are, I need hardly say, no
facts which justify the belief in any such interruption of the orderly
course of nature.

The forked twig (virgula furcata of the alchemists) used by
water-finders has another significance and history. The forked twig is
held, one branch in one hand and the other branch in the other hand,
by the explorer. After a time, as the explorer walks along, the twig
suddenly, and even vigorously, "plunges" or "ducks" as he holds it.
It seems to do so "of its own accord." The old English word "douse"
signifies ducking, dipping, or plunging. The forked twig "douses."
Hence the persons who use it are called "dousers." The belief is
widespread that this dousing or plunging of the forked twig is caused
by the presence of a vein of metallic ore in the ground, or in other
cases by the presence of subterranean water. It is interesting to
ascertain what grounds there are for this belief.

The dousing-rod or twig is first mentioned in the fifteenth century
by a writer on alchemy (Basil Valentine), and in 1546 by Agricola
(De re metallica), who says it must be either of willow or hazel,
and describes its use in the discovery of metalliferous veins and
subterranean water. The purely fantastic belief on which its use was
based was part of the doctrine of "sympathies." It was supposed that
the branches of certain plants were drawn to certain "sympathetic"
metals in the earth beneath them--a supposition suggested by the
downward growth or "weeping" of the branches of trees and bushes in
some cases. By the Germans the forked twig used in searching for
metals or water was called "Schlagruthe," which has the same meaning
as "dousing" or "plunging" or "striking rod." It was introduced into
England by German miners who were employed in the time of Queen
Elizabeth by merchant venturers in working the Cornish mines--and it
has remained with us ever since--though one hears little at the present
day of its use in searching for metalliferous deposits, and more about
the supposed wonderful results obtained with its aid by professional
water-finders.

We have to distinguish the facts established in regard to "the
dousing-twig" from the inferences and suppositions based upon those
facts by credulous people. There is no room for doubt that when the
forked twig, in shape like a letter =Y= upside down, is held by a
more or less nervous but perfectly honest person who takes the matter
very seriously, and holds firmly one branch of the fork in one hand
and the other in the other hand, the fingers well round it so as to
bring it against the palm of the hand, a strange thing happens after
some minutes. The twig seems to the person holding it to give a sudden
movement as though drawn downwards. If he or she is walking along,
intently awaiting this movement, and believing that it will be caused
by some subterranean attraction, the effect is, naturally enough,
startling. It occurs more readily with some persons than with others.
What is the explanation of it? There is no necessity for supposing that
it is due to any mysterious attraction by hidden water or metal. It has
been clearly shown that it is due to fatigue of the muscles which are
employed in keeping the hands and fingers in position. The muscles in
use suddenly relax, and the hands turn to a new pose--one of rest--and
with them the forked twig. In most persons attention and control are
sufficiently active to prevent this sudden relaxation of the muscles.
But those who are liable to mental absorption in the strange procedure,
and are apt to become half-dazed by the solemn sort of "rite" in which
they are engaged, find their tired hands (tired, though they are
unconscious of it) suddenly turning, and the twig "ducking" downwards
in a way which they can neither explain nor control. Such persons
are the honest, self-deceived "dousers," who are, and have been,
sufficiently numerous to establish a belief in the existence of a
mysterious agency causing the twig to "duck." No doubt originally, with
complete innocence and honesty, this mysterious agency was believed to
be a sort of magnetic attraction due to a sympathy between the twig
and subterranean metal. In later days, without any attempt to give a
reason for the change, the same class of people have believed that it
was water far below the surface of the earth which was the cause of the
attraction, and consequent ducking or dousing of the twig.

Let us assume for a moment that the facts are as I have stated, and
that the honest "douser" merely finds his forked twig dousing or
ducking because his hands are tired by keeping in one position. Then
it is evident that no harm would be done, but rather a useful decision
leading to action would be determined, by the belief that concealed
metal was the cause of the "ducking." Digging must be commenced
somewhere, and the dousing-rod would only be tried on likely ground,
so that, often, the thing sought for (whether metal or water) would
be found after prolonged excavation at the spot indicated by the
douser, or near it. If the digging were a failure, the believers in
the dousing-rod would say that they had not been able to dig deep
enough, or that some hostile agency had intervened and misled the
"douser," or that he was in poor health, and so "worked" badly. The
successes are remembered and the failures forgotten. So the belief in
the dousing-twig as a real guide to subterranean metal and water has
been maintained, and all the more securely because there have been, and
doubtless are still, many honest, innocent country people who truly
believe that they possess an exceptional and mysterious gift in being
able to experience the curious ducking action of the twig when they
walk with it in their hands in quest of this or that.

In the seventeenth century the dousing-twig was used as a guide in all
sorts of quests, for instance, in searching for hidden treasure and
in tracking criminals! In our own times it is chiefly known through
its use by professional water-finders. There is no doubt that some of
these gentry are dishonest. They are not the credulous rustics to whom
the dousing-twig owes its long popularity. They are often clever and
expert judges of the indications by form of the land, lie of geological
strata, and distribution of vegetation, as to the subterranean water
which is so abundant in this country. They make a pretence of using the
douser's twig, in order to obtain employment from landowners in search
of a likely spot for sinking a well, since it is the fact that many
people prefer to be guided by a sort of magician who uses a supposed
mysterious occult agency rather than to employ the honest and perhaps
less acute geologist who avowedly proceeds in his search for water by
making use of ascertained facts as to the structure and character of
the subsoil and deeper strata of the district in which his services are
called for.

The believers in the connexion of the movement of the douser's rod and
the existence of concealed metal or water, have of late years started
the theory that the twig itself is of no value in the "experiment."
Certain dousers have declared that they can work just as well without
it, and that it is not the rod or twig but they themselves who are
sensitive to concealed water or metal. They state that they feel a
peculiar "sinking" in the pit of the stomach, also a nervous tremor,
and that their hands move spasmodically, causing the rod to move, and
they attribute this to an influence on the human body of "vibrations"
or possibly "electricity" from the concealed metal or water. This is
ingenious enough; it shifts the seat of mysterious action from the
simple twig to the much more complex human body, and accepts to a
certain extent what I have above stated as to the nervous condition of
the douser and the fatigue of the hands.

Others, who have lately discussed the subject, suggest that the douser
is affected not by any known kind of physical vibrations, but by
some mysterious emanation from the concealed metals or water similar
to that which they (without any sufficient evidence) assume to pass
from one human being to another over long distances, causing what has
been called "second-sight," "thought-reading," and (in order to give
an air of scientific importance to it) "telepathy." This may seem
satisfactory to some people, but it is plainly a case of attempting
to explain a little-known thing by reference to a still less known
thing--what is called "ignotum per ignotius." Sir W. F. Barrett, of
Dublin, has lately written on this subject, and very rightly says that
the real question to be decided in the first instance is whether the
modern "water-finders," who profess to be guided by occult influences,
whatever the nature of those influences may be, are more successful in
discovering water than those who seek for it by the use of the known
natural indications of its presence; and, further,--and this seems
to me to be the most important consideration,--whether, taking into
account all the "experiments" made by the occultist water-finders,
both the successful and the unsuccessful, the proportion of successes
is greater than might be expected as a matter of chance and the use of
common intelligence.

That is, in fact, the interesting point about the persistent belief
in the "magical" powers of water-finders. It is one of several more
or less traditional beliefs which depend on coincidence. The belief
in birth-marks is of this nature. A lizard drops from the ceiling
of her room on to a woman. A few weeks afterwards she bears a child
which has a mark upon its breast more or less "resembling" a lizard.
Some people believe that the mark on the child is caused by what is
called "a maternal impression," the influence on the mother's mind
of the scare caused by the lizard being expressed in the mark on the
child's body. To form a conclusion as to the truth of this explanation
we require to know what proportion of mothers in a given population
have been startled by lizards, what proportion of children are born
with marks on them more or less "resembling" a lizard (there is much
significance in the "more or less"), and whether there are more
children born with a lizard-like mark on the body from mothers who have
been frightened shortly before the child's birth by a lizard, than from
mothers who have not been thus frightened. The inquiry is not an easy
one. The same question of coincidence applies to water-finding. Taking
several thousand attempts to find water we must ask, "Is the attempt
unsuccessful in a larger percentage of trials in the case of those who
do not follow the indications of a dousing-rod than in the case of
those who make use of it?" Sir W. F. Barrett admits the difficulty of
getting at satisfactory statistics in the matter; but is inclined to
think the dousers are the more successful, and so entertains a theory
of mysterious agency to account for their success. My own impression is
that in difficult cases of search for water dousers are as frequently
unsuccessful as non-dousers.

It is true we cannot get proper returns of all cases of success
and failure. But in this matter of "water-finding" we can make
use of "experiment," a thing which is not so easy in regard to
birth-marks--though it is related that the patriarch Jacob made an
experiment of this character with his pealed stakes. Experiments have
lately been made with dousers or water-diviners to test their powers.
These experiments have been carried out both in Paris and in the South
of England. They are unfavourable to the pretensions of the diviners.

It is very difficult to perform under perfectly fair conditions a
number of experiments sufficiently large to enable us to arrive at a
demonstration of the truth in this matter. Some thousand "dousers"
should be put to the test under proper conditions and guarantees, and
the percentage of failures and successes carefully recorded. This has
not been done, although "dousers" have often been tested and found to
be unable to discover subterranean water known to be present, or else
have given erroneous indications. If you prove some one individual
"douser" to be an impostor, or else self-deluded--the reply by those
who believe in the existence of the occult power attributed to dousers
is, naturally enough, that though this individual was an impostor, or
incapable, yet that does not prove that all other individuals who claim
to possess certain peculiar powers in the discovery of water are so.
All that can be done is to challenge any douser to come forward and
establish, in the presence of a competent tribunal of experts, that
he can indicate in a given area the whereabouts of subterranean water
already known to the committee but not possibly known beforehand to the
douser.

This experiment was made a year or two ago near Guildford by a
committee of water engineers and geologists, and also by a similar
committee in Paris. Only a dozen or two of the water-finding dousers
came forward and submitted to be thus tested, and they entirely
failed to show any special capacity for discovering water. They
failed signally. But then the believers may, of course, retort that
the really gifted superior dousers had refused to have anything to
do with the inquiry, and that "their withers are unwrung." The same
kind of test was some years ago made with the so-called "spiritualist
mediums." A banknote for £1000 was placed in a very carefully sealed
envelope, and deposited in a safe in a bank. Its owner advertised his
offer to present the note to any spiritualists who would correctly
state the number of the note. The offer remained open for some years,
but the spiritualists were unable to gain information about this very
simple matter by their methods of consulting supposed "spirits," and
the note was never claimed. Of course, some of those who believe in
spiritualism, maintain that the genuine "mediums," for some reason not
altogether clear, refused to make the attempt to discover the number.
Others put forward the view that the "spirits" took offence at the
proposed test, and refused to reveal the number. Others, again, took
the line that this was just one of the few things about which "spirits"
are unable to communicate with mortals, or are forbidden by superior
order to reveal.

It is accordingly fairly obvious that it is not of much use to take
the trouble to expose the falsity of the pretensions of any isolated
specimen of a douser or of a spirit medium. However that may be, some
years ago, when I was staying in an ancient castle in the North of
England, my hostess procured the attendance of a youth who had a great
reputation as a douser, in order that I might test his pretensions.
The youth arrived with his father, and had half a dozen =Y=-shaped
hazel twigs ready for use. The party staying in the castle met him on
the terrace, a broad gravel walk which surrounded the battlements. I
asked him to walk round the castle and mark in our presence the spots
at which his twig indicated the presence of subterranean water. The
circuit was somewhat less than a quarter of a mile, and he indicated
eleven spots. We placed obvious marks at each of these spots. I
then took him into the castle and, aided by a friend, carefully
blindfolded him with pads of cotton-wool over each orbit and a large
silk handkerchief. We then led him out by a circuitous route on to
the terrace and asked him to try again to indicate the spots which he
had just discovered. He walked along as before and stopped at several
spots, saying that his twig indicated water where he stood. He also
made futile efforts by turning and throwing back his head, to catch
a glimpse of some of the marks we had placed at the spots previously
indicated by him. But the pads of cotton-wool effectually prevented
him from seeing anything. In no case (as a large party of onlookers
testified) were the spots indicated on his second circuit identical
with, or even near to, those marked in the first circuit. His father
said he was "upset" by the blindfolding. We then removed the bandage,
and took him into a large courtyard beneath and across which from one
corner to another a large subterranean conduit ran. We had arranged
that the water should be running in abundance through this conduit. We
told him that such a subterranean channel existed. He was left free
and undisturbed, and his eyes were not bandaged. But he failed to
discover the conduit altogether, although he crossed it several times;
and he ended by declaring that his twig indicated subterranean water
at a spot remote from the conduit, where some large vats stood for the
purpose of storing rain-water! All this, of course, tended to prove the
incompetence of the youth as a douser, and to make it probable that
such successes as he had obtained elsewhere (and my hostess stated that
they were very numerous and remarkable, and vouched for by members of
her own family) were due to imposture.

But a single case like this does not bring one very far on the way
to deciding the question as to whether there are persons who are
genuinely and successfully guided to the discovery of subterranean
water by strange sensations and by spasmodic movements of their limbs
or of hazel-twigs held in the hands, due (as they declare) to an
obscure influence which emanates from subterranean water and from
buried metal. The fact is that we have in the belief in the guidance
of the douser by occult influences a troublesome case of the fallacy
in reasoning expressed by the words, "post hoc ergo propter hoc,"
or, to put it in English, "after this, therefore caused by this."
Primitive man found that this mode of forming a conclusion very often
led to a correct discovery of the connexion between two events, and he
adopted it as a ready method of guidance, although it was frequently
fallacious. It has taken ages, literally ages, to make people discard
this mode of arriving at a conclusion in serious matters, and it is
still usual in less vital affairs. To show that B followed upon the
occurrence of A, even once, is, of course, a proper and useful way of
forming a guess or a suggestion as to the cause of B, but still more
is your guess legitimate if the sequence has occurred several times
in your experience. But it is only a guess: a conclusion must not be
accepted on that basis, although lazy and hasty people do adopt such
conclusions. You must find out the details of the nature of A and also
of B, and if possible how the one is connected with the other. And if
you cannot do that you can still establish your conclusion and confirm
your guess by showing that B _invariably_ follows upon A, or that (in
a long experience) only when A has been present, and never when A has
not been present, has B occurred. If you cannot prove the truth of your
guess by this experimental demonstration of the exclusion of other
causes than A or by the experimental demonstration of the invariable
occurrence of B after A has occurred, then you have to seek for
evidence of a real connexion between A and B, though not an invariable
one, by collecting a vast number of instances of the occurrence of B
and finding out whether A has preceded it in such a large proportion
of cases (as compared with those in which B has occurred without the
previous occurrence of A) that the cases in which B follows A cannot be
considered as accidental, but indicate a real causal relation of A to B.

This is always a difficult undertaking, whether we start with the
guess that B is caused by A or that it is not caused by A. In the case
of water-finding, water is found at depths of 30 feet to 100 feet
and more below the surface by engineers without the aid of "dousers"
every day, and this is so frequent and regular a proceeding that the
percentage of cases in which dousers find water, that is to say in
which B--the discovery of water--follows A (A being the employment of
a supposed sensitive douser with or without his twig) does not--so far
as I am able to judge without strict statistical evidence--exceed the
percentage of successes in searching and digging for water by ordinary
intelligent men without the introduction of A.

CHAPTER XL

BIRTH-MARKS AND TELEGONY

TWO widely-spread "beliefs"--in regard to the complicated and not
generally familiar subject of the reproduction of animals--are, in
addition to that dealt with in the last chapter, examples of the
unjustified and primitive mode of forming a conclusion known as "post
hoc ergo propter hoc." I refer, firstly, to the belief (which I have
already mentioned) in the causation of what are called "birth-marks"
by "maternal impressions," by which is meant the seeing of unusual and
impressive things by the mother when with child; and, secondly, to the
belief that a thoroughbred mare can be so affected or infected by the
sire (say a zebra) of one foal as to convey to the foal of a later sire
(say, a thoroughbred like herself) marks (such as stripes on the legs)
which were not present in the second sire, though present in the first
sire. This supposed occurrence is called "telegony," and is by some
persons supposed to occur in dogs, cattle, and other animals, including
man, as well as in the horse.

There is little support in ordinary experience for the belief that
birth-marks are caused by maternal impressions, although some of those
who are concerned in a professional way with breeding operations cling
to it. In very ancient times we find that there was a belief in it,
as shown by the story of the patriarch Jacob, who, wishing to obtain
the birth of spotted or parti-coloured lambs from a herd of sheep,
placed in front of the breeding ewes stakes or rods from which he had
removed the bark in rings, so as to make them parti-coloured. He was
supposed to have been successful in this way in impressing the visual
sense of the maternal ewes with "parti-colouration," and the belief was
that they in consequence produced dappled or parti-coloured lambs. The
belief, though not general, is widespread among simple folk that such
influences can and do act on animals, and it has been, and is by some,
similarly held that a human mother may be influenced by surrounding
objects, so that if her surroundings are beautiful she will produce a
beautiful child. There is absolutely no ground for this belief--based
upon experiment. It is merely an unreasoning assumption of "after this,
therefore because of this," based upon the incomplete observation of a
few accidental cases of vague coincidence and a tenacious clinging to
the belief that it is so because it is difficult to prove that it is
not so. No trustworthy investigation or experiment on the subject is on
record.

But this unwarranted, untested belief, originating among barbarous
peoples, has led further, owing to the inveterate love of marvels
still common among us, to the notion (surviving to the present day)
that the irregular coloured or obscure marks sometimes found on the
skin of a child at birth, and vaguely resembling an animal or a fruit,
or what not, are due to the mother having recently seen, under some
sudden and startling circumstances, the object which the "birth-mark"
on the child resembles. Thus we have the following stories related in
a recent publication ("Sex Antagonism," by Walter Heape, F.R.S.). The
author holds that this strange influence of "maternal impressions"
is possible--a matter of comparatively small importance, since the
real question is not as to the "possibility" but simply (as in a whole
series of beliefs as to more or less improbable occurrences) whether
there is or is not sufficient evidence that the connexion and influence
believed in actually exists. Mr. Heape relates (without giving any
detailed evidence whatever in support of the conclusion which he
accepts) the supposed case of a red "mark" like a lizard found on a
new-born child's breast being "produced" by the fall of a lizard from
the ceiling (the event happened in China) on to its mother's breast
shortly before the child's birth. Another case is that of a woman whose
husband was brought home from work with his arm lacerated by machinery.
Her child was born soon afterwards, and is stated to have had marks on
one arm "similar to" those the mother saw on the corresponding arm of
her husband. Another story is that of a lady who had a great craving
for raspberries before her child was born, and accordingly bore a child
with a red raspberry mark on its body!

In no case does Mr. Heape give any picture of the birth-mark and the
thing supposed to be represented by it, nor state that he has seen
either the mark or a picture of it. In no case is the statement of
the mother as to her having been "influenced" as described in the
narration, tested or examined in any way.

These and similar stories are related to-day, and such stories have
been related from time immemorial. But they are always "hear-say." The
witnesses and the facts are never carefully examined, and the degree
of closeness of the agreement between the mark and its supposed cause
are never really demonstrated. Nor has anyone undertaken a statistical
examination with the view of showing that the vague agreement of the
mark with the arresting object seen by the mother is anything more
than an accidental coincidence, nor (in regard to many such stories)
has it been proved that the mother really did see or notice any such
terrifying object as she afterwards declares (and possibly thinks) she
did. Moreover, no one has carefully and scientifically made crucial
experiments with animals, similar to that of the patriarch Jacob. The
experiments and their record would not be difficult with animals.
Though some farmers may believe that such influences do operate on
their breeding dams, there is no known or recognized application
of Jacob's method to the production of desired form or colour in
domesticated animals. We are not concerned with "possibilities." What
is needed is a series of demonstrative experiments, or critical cases.
And these are, as yet, not forthcoming.

Telegony is the name given to the hypothesis that the offspring of
a known sire sometimes inherit characters from a previous mate of
their dam. The name means reproduction (Greek, gonos) influenced by
a remote agent (Greek, tele = from afar). There is no question about
"possibility" here. Such an "infection" of a dam by a previous mate
is not improbable. According to Darwin "farmers in South Brazil are
convinced that mares which have once borne mules, when subsequently
put to horses, are extremely liable to produce colts striped like a
mule." On the other hand, the Baron de Parana states that he has many
relatives and friends who have large establishments for the rearing of
mules where they obtain from 400 to 1000 mules in a year. In all these
establishments, after two or three crossings of the mare and ass, the
breeders cause the mare to be put to a horse; yet the pure-bred foals
so produced have never in a single case resembled either an ass or a
mule.

A celebrated case to which Darwin attached importance was that of Lord
Morton's mare, reported to the Royal Society in 1820. This mare, after
bearing a hybrid by a quagga (a striped equine related to the zebra)
produced, to a black Arabian horse, three foals showing a number of
stripes, and in one of them more stripes were present than in the
quagga hybrid. This seems at first sight strong evidence in favour
of "infection" of the mare by the early quagga mate. But it appears
that stripes are frequently seen in high-caste Arab horses, and colts
cross-bred from such and other breeds of horse sometimes present far
more distinct bars across the legs and other zebra-like markings than
were seen in the late offspring of Lord Morton's Arabian mare. The fact
appears to be that all the living species of the horse family (horses,
asses, quaggas, and zebras) are descended from an ancestry of "striped"
equines, and are liable occasionally to "throw back" to their striped
ancestry, more or less.

Professor Cossar Ewart determined some years ago to submit the matter
to direct experiment, and has related his results in a book ("The
Penicuik Experiments," 1899). The South African equine called the
quagga, which was that used by Lord Morton, having become extinct,
Professor Ewart made use of a richly striped Burchell's zebra. Thirty
mares put to this animal produced seventeen hybrids, and subsequently
these mares, put to horse-stallions, produced twenty pure-bred foals.
All the zebra hybrids were richly and very distinctly striped. Of the
twenty later pure-bred horse-foals from the same mares three only
presented stripe-like markings at birth, and these were few and
indistinct. They disappeared when the foal's coat was shed. Their
mothers were Highland mares. But the value of the faint striping in
these three instances as evidence in support of telegony is at once
destroyed by the fact that Professor Ewart obtained at the same time
pure-bred foals from similar Highland mares which had never seen a
zebra. Two of these pure-bred Highland foals showed stripes at birth,
and one acquired stripes later; and further, whilst the stripes on the
foals born after hybrids had been produced by their mothers disappeared
with the foal's coat, the stripes on the three pure-bred colts whose
mothers had never been near a zebra persisted for a longer period.
Similar experiments confirmed these results, showing that traces of
striping are no more likely to occur on the offspring of a mare which
has previously produced a mule with a zebra or an ass, than on one
whose dam has neither seen nor been near to a zebra or an ass. Lord
Morton's case thus falls to the ground.

Breeders of dogs are (or were) even more thoroughly convinced of the
fact of telegony than breeders of horses. But Sir Everett Millais,
who devoted thirty years to the breeding of dogs and experiments on
this question, states that he has never seen a case of telegony. And
recent experiments of the most definite kind support his conclusion.
Dalmatians, deerhounds, and retrievers have been used in these
experiments. Many such experiments in telegony are accidentally or
unwittingly made every year with dogs. An undesired crossing of
two breeds takes place, but when subsequent pure breeding takes
place no "telegonic" infection of the mother is observed. Cases
believed to be due to telegony have on examination proved to be due
to the carelessness of stablemen, who have allowed a dog to escape
temporarily from the kennels or to enter them uninvited. The men have
attributed the mongrels so begotten to telegony in order to conceal
their negligence.

Another curious case was that of a rickety spaniel puppy, which was
exhibited a few years ago at the Zoological Society and believed by the
exhibitor to owe its bandy legs to "telegonic" infection of the mother
by a dachshund, with which she was supposed to have mated a year or
more before being put to the father of the spaniel. Its true nature was
at once recognized by the experts present, the bandy legs being those
caused by "rickets," and not like those of the well-known dachshund
breed.

It appears that the explanations widely prevalent of many apparently
strange things discussed in the preceding chapters, such as live
toads buried in rocks, the water-finder's mystic rod, the coincidence
of birth-marks and maternal impressions, and the inheritance of
offspring from a previous mate of their dam, are hasty and unverified
suppositions, which have never been properly tested, and that when the
wonder-provoking statements made and the actual facts in question are
properly and sufficiently examined, according to the rules of evidence
and common sense, it is discovered that the assumption of occult or
exceptional causes in explanation of such strange things are not
justified, but that these strange things owe their strangeness in large
part to the incorrect and incomplete observation of those who report
them, and to that love of marvel and mystery which, like hope, springs
eternal in the human breast.

It is a remarkable proof of the reality of the belief in
telegony--though not a proof of the reality of telegony--that amongst
breeders of horses and dogs the selling value of a dam which has borne
young to an inferior sire or to one of a distinct species, is largely
diminished as compared with that of a dam which has been mated with
a first-rate sire of her own breed. Darwin himself was led, by his
inquiries into a similar occurrence in plants, to favour the notion
that a sire could so "infect" a mare that her offspring by a later sire
would in some instances show traces of the characters of the earlier
sire. The parts of a plant which form the coverings of the fertilized
ovule, the "coats" of the seed and the seed-case and fruit, are, of
course, parts of the maternal plant. In each of the ovules which grow
in the central part of a flower (the so-called "pistil") is an egg
cell like that of an animal. This is "fertilized" by the pollen-grains
which are brought by wind or by insects from the "stamens" of another
flower. Each pollen-grain thus brought to the surface of the pistil
elongates into a delicate filament, and penetrates into it, and so
reaches an egg cell, with which it fuses. Then the surrounding tissues
grow and swell up, forming the seed coats and the fruit. They are parts
of the egg-cell-producing or "mother" flower. Thus the pulp and "rind"
or skin of an orange is part of the mother plant, not of the germs or
young embedded in the "pips." It is found that if an orange-flower is
deliberately fertilized by placing on its pistil the pollen-grains of
a lemon-flower, not only are the ovules of the orange fertilized, but
the surrounding structures, which enlarge to form the fruit and are
parts of the orange plant quite distinct from the ovules, also become
affected by the pollen. In one well-observed case when an orange-flower
was fertilized by a gardener with the pollen of a lemon-flower, the
skin or rind of the resulting fruit was found to exhibit stripes of
perfectly characterized lemon peel (having the colour and flavour of
lemon peel), alternating with stripes of the proper orange peel.

The same thing has been observed in apples, melons, orchids,
rhododendrons, grapes, maize, and peas, when one variety has been
fertilized by the pollen of another, or when one species has been
fertilized by the pollen of an allied but distinct species. The fruit
in these cases (not simply the germ or young plant within it) has been
found in some instances to have some of the colour, flavour, or shape
and marking of the fertilizing variety or species blended or else mixed
like a patchwork with that characteristic of the fertilized variety or
species. The egg-producing or mother plant not merely has its ovules
fertilized, but its tissues for some distance around are infected and
made to take on--in parts of their living, growing substance--some of
the quality of the fertilizing species. A similar thing occurs, though
rarely, when cuttings of one plant are grafted on to another. The
living tissue either of graft or of stock, and sometimes of both, is
affected by the fusion with it of the tissue of the second plant united
with it. And this appears to be a kind of "infection"--living particles
passing from one to the other, and producing a mosaic or patchwork of
the two kinds of living substance characteristic of each of the united
plants.

If an individual flower were to produce in a second year after its
first fertilization and seed production a second set of ovules which
could be fertilized by a kind of pollen differing from the first,
it would not be surprising did that second set of ovules sometimes
show characteristics due to the infection of the maternal tissues by
the pollen used in the first year. But flowers do not survive and
produce ovules in a second year. They are completely used up each year,
and drop off as "fruits" from the plant which bears them. With many
animals, however, the facts are otherwise. The same mother produces
from the ovary year after year successive ovules, and it would thus
be quite intelligible that the fertilizing sperm of one year should
frequently have so affected or infected the egg-producing organ or
ovary as to result in the conveyance to the later crop of egg cells
separated from the ovary, some of the qualities of the earlier male
parent. These considerations warrant the guess or "hypothesis" of
telegony in animals. But all such guesses must be put to the proof,
and not accepted simply because there is no reason to conclude that
they are impossible. As things at present stand, there is no evidence,
resulting either from deliberate experiment or from exact observation
and record of the natural breeding of animals, to justify us in
holding, as an established fact, that the offspring of a given sire
and dam is, even in rare cases, affected by the previous mating of the
dam with another sire. Naturalists would be deeply interested in the
production of even one indisputable instance of this occurrence.

In connexion with this matter it is to be noted that the sperm of one
drone (her only mate) is retained in an internal sac or pouch, alive
and active, in the queen bee, for some four or five years, and is used
by her in successive seasons for fertilizing her eggs. Similarly it
is recorded by the late Lord Avery that a queen ant kept by him for
fourteen years, without access to a male ant, retained to the end of
that period the power of producing eggs which developed into worker
ants. He concluded that the sperm received fourteen years before by
this queen from a male ant remained all this time alive and ready
for use in her sperm-receptacle or sac, since it has been shown that
unfertilized eggs in these and allied insects produce only drones
(males).

Many strange and unwarranted beliefs persist because mankind prefers to
accept an astonishing assertion as true rather than take the trouble to
see whether it is so or not. Thus all antiquity and the later learned
world wrangled about the very existence of Homer's city of Troy, until
Schliemann said, "Don't talk! Dig!" and with childlike simplicity and
directness uncovered ancient Troy. Thus the belief as to St. Swithin
and his forty days of rain has been shown by the simple examination of
the actual records of rainfall to be very far from the truth, since,
though we often have a wet period in July and August, St. Swithin's
Day is nearly as often free from rain in a wet season as the reverse.
Forty days of rain very rarely indeed, in the South of England, have
followed a wet St. Swithin's Day. The most amusing instance of the
pricking of one of these bubbles of belief arose from the inquiry by
some of the sham philosophers at the Court of King Charles II as to
how it comes about that if a jar holding water be weighed, and then
a live fish be placed therein without spilling any of the water, and
the jar, with the fish and the water in it, be again weighed, there
is found to be no increase in the observed weight. King Charles, it
is said, made a bet that this was not so, and that there was nothing
to explain. He referred the matter for decision to the newly founded
"Royal Society for the Promotion of Natural Knowledge," which at other
times he had asked to give him information as to the magic properties
of the unicorn's horn and the cause of the movements of the recently
imported "sensitive or humble plant." The believers in the marvellous
disappearance of the weight of a fish placed in a bowl of water held
forth at great length and gave ingenious reasons as to why this is
so. But the King said, "Don't chatter; make trial!" And the weighing
was done, in the King's presence, by some of the Fellows of the Royal
Society. It was found that the weight of the jar with its contained
water was increased when the fish was placed therein by exactly the
number of ounces which the fish weighed when placed separately in
the balance. So the King won his bet, and the sham philosophers were
silenced. The whole spirit of science, as contrasted with that of
superstition and ignorance, is summed up by the Royal Society's motto,
"Nullius in verba" (on no man's assertion!), and the King's command,
"Don't chatter; make trial!"

CHAPTER XLI

HOW TO PROMOTE SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERY BY MONEY

THE fact that five years ago Mr. Otto Beit, the brother of the late
Mr. Alfred Beit, not only carried out the latter's intention of giving
£50,000 to the promotion of research in connexion with the study of
disease and the mastery of its causes, but added £150,000 on his own
account to the amount originally proposed, produced great satisfaction
among scientific men, and also in that large body of the public which,
at the present day, understands something of the importance to the
community of the minute and thorough study of disease, of its mode
of access to man, and of the possibilities, which every day become
brighter and clearer, of getting rid of it altogether. All honour
and gratitude are due to Mr. Beit for his generous gift and for his
wise appreciation of the good which can be done by proper application
of such a fund. I have reason to know and to value the large-minded
interest in science which was shown by the late Mr. Alfred Beit, since
he gave me £1000, some twelve years ago, towards the expenses of
expeditions which I was organizing for the investigation of the natural
history of Lake Tanganyika,--expeditions which have yielded important
scientific results, and have but recently exhausted the fund then
collected.

It has often occurred to me that wealthy men who wish to devote large
sums of money to the promotion of scientific research find difficulty
in carrying out their intentions, owing to the fact that they do not
know enough about the methods and conditions of scientific discovery
to enable them to form a definite independent judgment as to how to
assign their money, so as to make sure that it shall really be employed
in the most effective way towards the end they have in view--namely,
the increase of scientific discovery. They naturally have some doubts
as to whether the old (or even the new) Universities can help them as
trustees of the money when they see the importance attached by the
former to antiquated methods of teaching and examination and observe
their traditional cultivation of certain favoured studies, with a
minimum of activity in research and discovery. They mistrust special
societies or individuals as advisers in the matter, and sometimes
finally spend the money which they had destined to be the means of
furthering scientific discovery upon a costly and ill-considered
architectural monstrosity dedicated to science, but of little help to
its progress.

In past times various schemes have been adopted by benevolent men
for bequeathing or giving their money so as to promote scientific
discovery. Very generally there has been a certain amount of confusion
between two distinct purposes--namely, that of creating new knowledge
(the discovery of previously unknown things and new processes), and
that of spreading existing knowledge amongst an increased proportion
of the community. An admirable endowment for the latter purpose is
that of Mr. Smithson, a member of the family of the present Duke
of Northumberland, which was refused by the British Government for
peculiar reasons, and conveyed by that gentleman to trustees in
the United States of America about a hundred years ago, where the
Smithsonian Institution has vastly aided the spread of science. Another
valuable endowment which has been administered by special trustees for
a still longer period is that of the celebrated physician Radcliffe,
to whom we owe the scientific and medical library, an astronomical
observatory, and travelling fellowships in the University of Oxford.
The greatest sum dedicated to scientific research in England of late
years is the noble gift of a quarter of a million sterling made by Lord
Iveagh to the Lister Institute of Preventive Medicine. There have been
not a few generous donors of smaller sums for like purposes.

An inquiry was set on foot a few years ago in America in order to
obtain the opinions of those who had experience of scientific research
and the institutions intended to promote it in different countries,
as to the best methods to adopt in order to effect such promotion. I
do not know whether any report was published, but I remember that I
was consulted on the subject by the late Professor Simon Newcomb, a
foreign member of the Royal Society and one of the most distinguished
scientific discoverers in the United States. I am quite sure that no
general agreement or conclusion on the subject has been arrived at.
So far as I can see, whenever any high-minded philanthropist desires
to devote in this country a large sum of money to the promotion of
scientific discovery, he is liable to come under the influence of
highly respectable and eminent persons who, although they have no
acquaintance with the nature of scientific discovery and the way in
which it actually takes place, do not hesitate to fix up a scheme based
on some antiquated and mistaken model, which is accepted with simple
faith by the benevolent donor.

Scientific research is a delicate plant, and the secret of the way
in which it may be nurtured has not been revealed to dignitaries and
officials. It is interesting to note some of the methods which have
been tried with the object of nurturing scientific discovery. In every
case the donor has chosen or created an electing body or trustees of
which I will say more below. He has directed this body to expend his
gift with a view to the promotion of scientific discovery in one of
the following ways: (1) in awarding prizes for discoveries made; (2)
in terminable stipends to junior and senior workers selected by the
trustees and called scholars or fellows, the stipends being given on
condition of their holders devoting themselves for a few years to
the attempt to make discoveries; (3) in permanent salaries to tried
men, who are thus paid as professors or directors of laboratories and
museums; (4) in providing specially designed buildings and apparatus
for research, but no salaries for the workers; (5) in providing, on
whatever scale the fund given permits, groups consisting of a professor
or director, two or more assistants, attendants, building, apparatus,
and the annual income necessary for materials of investigation and
maintenance of the establishment. As to the trustees, or boards
of electors, chosen by the donor, they are often some established
scientific society or some university, or the board may be specially
appointed by him. The last is the best sort of body, if properly
constituted, but not unfrequently the perplexed promoter of scientific
discovery finds himself assenting to the constitution of what is called
"a representative body"--say, a bishop, a town councillor, a Secretary
of State, a judge, and a university professor, with other members to
be nominated by himself or his heirs. Such a board fails from a want of
knowledge.

The methods of applying the income provided by the donor are not
always such as to produce any marked result in the direction desired
by him. It is generally agreed among scientific workers and experts
that the giving of prizes or rewards for scientific discovery does
not tend to increase the output of discoveries, however carefully and
justly awarded. Though such an award as the £8000 or £10,000 of the
Nobel prizes is a very agreeable compliment to the man so honoured,
and often richly deserved, no one would urge a would-be promoter of
scientific discovery to devote his gift to the foundation of prizes.
And so, too, with regard to scholarships or fellowships, it is very
generally and rightly held that they do little or nothing in promoting
scientific discovery when they are small in value and are only to be
held for two or three years. When a young man has taken his university
degree in science or medicine a scholarship or fellowship of £250 a
year for three years offers no inducement to him, if he is an able man,
to abandon his regular professional career. If he accepts it, he will
have had no time to go far on the path of discovery before it comes
to an end, and he will find at the end of his three years that he has
lost that amount of time so far as his profession is concerned, and
that there is no life post or career open to him in the line in which
he has spent three years--namely, that of a scientific investigator.
As a rule, able men will not be drawn off in this way from their
professions, but inferior men may be.

The man, on the other hand, who is specially gifted with the power
of scientific discovery will not be affected by such temporary
fellowships. He will enter on the career of discovery with or
without such inducements. What such a man (and he is the only sort
of man who matters) really requires, and should find open to him, is
an assured career. This must take the form in the first place of a
smaller post as assistant to a great discoverer, tenable for twenty
years if need be, and subsequently a life post, with laboratory and
assistants, when he has proved his possession of the discoverer's
quality. Hence it is that what the benevolent millionaire who wishes
to promote scientific discovery should do is to provide life posts,
"professorships" or "directorships," for the really great discoverers,
who exist often in cramped conditions. They should be of the value of
£1500 to £3000 a year--not too large a stipend in view of the incomes
earned by successful professional men and assigned by Government
to judges, bishops, colonial governors, senior civil servants, and
politicians--with two or three assistantships of £150 to £500 a year
attached, to be filled up by nominations made by the professor himself
as vacancies occur. A sum of £7500 a year, that which Mr. Otto Beit
has so generously given, would pay for one professor, with three
assistants, attendants, and interest on building and maintenance fund.
Of course, if such a sum were offered to an existing institution
where buildings and other conveniences are already provided, two
research professors and their assistants could be paid for where one
only would be possible if building and service had to be provided.
There are buildings and laboratories in London and elsewhere
provided by beneficent founders without stipends for directors and
assistants, and there are already a good many young graduates drawing
terminable inadequate stipends in succession to one another from great
foundations. The difficulty is to bring about the combination of
adequate funds for the chief and for the graduated minor posts, and for
a well-equipped laboratory. When that is done, as it sometimes, though
rarely, is, the only further difficulty is how to choose a real man, an
inspired, inspiring discoverer. There is only one way.

Real discoverers are extremely rare--great ones are recognized
about once in fifty years in any one large branch of science. There
may be others wandering about--undiscovered discoverers. The only
people who can discover them are men like themselves. Hence, in
German universities and all wisely managed institutions for the
promotion of scientific discovery, they give the power of choosing new
discoverers to those discoverers already belonging to the university
or institution, and they take care that all the electors are vitally
interested for the honour, credit, and pecuniary success of their
university. These conditions can be arranged and brought into healthy
action by care and understanding. But the whole fabric may go to
pieces, and jobbery and jealousy prevail (as has sometimes happened in
England) if care is not taken to identify the personal interests of
the electors (brother professors) with the honest exercise of their
capacity to choose a real discoverer to fill a vacancy when it occurs,
or if an ignorant council of "superior persons" is allowed to interfere.

To find these great discoverers is, indeed, no light task. They have
to be looked for by the State, firstly, in the primary schools;
the net has to be drawn and the minor fishes allowed to escape,
whilst the strong and promising are sent on to high schools. Then
again, after further sifting, some are passed on to the special
college, then a selection to the university, and at last one or two
a year may be chosen as assistants to an established and inspiring
discoverer. Seven, ten, or fifteen years later one out of all his
fellows and predecessors is recognized as the incomparable teacher
and discoverer--the inspirer of others, the one great man of half a
century. He must be chosen by his colleagues, his fellow-workers, not
by political wire-pullers nor by any variety of social "Bumble." He is
given laboratories and assistants, and men come to consult him, to sit
under him, work for him, from all parts of the world. Louis Pasteur
was such a man. Huxley pointed out by what a vast public expenditure
Pasteur was gradually sifted out from his fellows, and made professor
in the Normal School of Paris. Of course, a good many inferior people
got a share of the training provided, and did some unimportant things;
but if we put them aside it is perfectly true (as a calculation of the
expenses of the whole network of State-supported schools and colleges
and bursaries through which he passed will show) that the capture or
discovery of Pasteur cost the French nation about £25,000,000. He was
worth it, not only to France, but to every other nationality--and more,
too, more than can be measured by gold. His name, honoured throughout
the world on account of the splendid discoveries associated with it,
gave self-respect, courage, and healthy pride to France at a time when
she had cruelly suffered. Ten years ago the most popular newspaper in
France took a "plebiscite" to determine who, in the general estimation
of the French people, was the greatest Frenchman of the nineteenth
century--the century which included the first Napoleon, Victor
Hugo, Gambetta. The vote was given by some millions, and resulted
in a majority for Louis Pasteur. Would Englishmen have shown such
discernment? Such a man is absolutely necessary as the head of any
great institute which exists for the purpose of scientific discovery.
Such men, smaller it may be, but of the same inspiring quality, are
the only men fit to be university professors. It is because there are
still such men at the Institut Pasteur that it remains a great seat of
discovery. It is because they have not such men, and that there is no
intelligent attempt to get them, that many wealthy institutions in our
own country fail to produce scientific fruit.

INDEX

Abies, the genus of the Silver Fir, 317

Acorns, sea-, 100, 110

Actinia mesembryanthemum, a common sea-anemone, 85, 86
living in an aquarium for fifty years, 86

African animals, preservation of, 20

Alchemists and the divining-rod, 385

Aldeburgh, amber to be bought there, 74
the great pebble beach at, 55

Alpine flowers, 161
reason of strong colour of, 167, 168

Amber, 71-76
chemical nature of, 75
insects in, 73
uses of, 73, 74

Amber-routes, 70

Ambleteuse, once a great harbour, 51

Amphioxus, 2

Anchovy, the, 359
sauce, its history and colour, 359

Anemone, the Weymouth, 88

Anemones, sea-, 81, 84, 85, 86
fertilization of, 186

Anthea cereus, a sea-anemone, 86

Ape, the lines on the palm of the, 373
to man, from, 236-291

Apes, mental qualities of, 241, 242

Aquariums, marine, made fashionable by Mr. Gosse, 83

"Arabian Nights," stories as to men turned into fish, 353

Araucaria, the monkey-puzzle, 329

Arbor vitæ, a kind of cypress, 330

Argentière (Switzerland), 164

Aril of the yew tree, 310

Arthropods or jointed-leg owners, 102, 103

Ashtaroth, 352

Astrology, 372

Atargatis, 352

Atlas cedar, 320

Augurs, the Roman corporation of, 371

Aurelia, the common jelly-fish, 95

Australian natives, 29, 30

Automata, animals as, 187

Balancers or dwindled wings of the two-winged flies, 218

Balanus, the sea-acorn or acorn-barnacle, 110

Ballet, Russian Imperial, 169, 177

Barnacle, growth and transformation of, 111-113
the legend of the, and the goose, 118-141
the ship's, figure of, 109

Barnacle-goose, the, 118

Barnacles, 100, 108-141
nauplius young of, discovered by the Army surgeon,
Vaughan Thompson, 107
their "complemental males" discovered by Darwin, 115

Barrett, Sir W. F., on water-finders, 389, 390

Beaches, constituents of, 53, 55-63

Bee, the queen, retains the sperm of one drone for four or
five years, 405

Beit, M. Otto, 408

Bernacæ and bernak, Celtic word for shell-fish, 121

Berri-berri, a disease due to bad diet, 297

Birds believed to be produced by trees, 118
their courtship, 298-300

Birth-marks, belief in, similar to that in magical power of
water-finders, 390
experiment by the patriarch Jacob, 391, 399
Mr. Heape on, 398

Bivalve and univalve shells, 143

Bleeding of the nose, Latin hymn to arrest, 343

Blood, amount of, in man's body, 348
coloured blue in scorpions, crustaceans, and molluscs, 346
colourless corpuscles of, 349
colourless, of lower animals, 346
duties of the, 349, 350
emotion and excitement caused by sight of, 345
fascination of, distinguished from cruelty, 344
of the grub of the midge and of the coiled pond-snail, coloured red
by hæmoglobin, 346
red corpuscles of, 347
superstitions about, 342, 343
the, and its circulation, 343 _et seq._
the only case of an insect with red, 223, 346
used as an adhesive by Australians, 343

Blood-stream, its pace in man, 348

Blood-vessels, swollen, of molluscs, crustacea, and insects, 340

Bournemouth, various pine trees at, 324

Bower-bird, its play-run, 196

Brain of apes and man, 253 _et seq._
increase of its size means increase of educability, 268
significance of its greater size in man than apes, 257-261
small brains of extinct animals, 259

Brent-geese and tree-geese, 122

Bristle-worms, 79

Browne, Sir Thomas, and the spontaneous generation of mice, 125

Bruno, St., his lily, 165

Bummaloh, or Bombay duck, 359

Bunodes crassicornis, a sea-anemone, 85, 86

Bustard, the courting of the, 199

Buttercup, the white, 165

Cable, author of "Old Creole Days," 55

Canard and cock-and-bull stories, 119

Canine tooth of the Piltdown jaw, discovery of the, 287

Capercailzie, the, 44

Carnelians on the Felixstowe beach, 58

Cedars, 319

Cement stones, 58

Charles II and the globe of fish, 406

Chartreuse, the Grande, 163

Chesil beach, the, 61

Chin, the bony, of man, peculiar to him, 250

Christmas trees, 302

Chyle, the, 333

Circulation, the, of the blood, 348

Cirripedes, the order comprising barnacles, 114

Click-beetles, the adults of wire-worms, 225

Cockle, the common, 146
jumping powers of the, 150

Cœlom, the lymph-holding body cavity, 338

Colours of marine animals, 93

Cone of the Douglas fir (figure), 327
of the Larch (figure), 319
of the Monterey Pine, or Pinus insignis (figure), 325
of the Pinaster (figure), 323
of the Prickly pine, Pinus muricata (figure), 326
(male and female) of the Scots fir (figure), 305
(female) of the Silver fir (figure), 316
(female) of the Spruce or Christmas tree (figure), 318
(modified) of the Yew tree (figure), 310

Cones, globular, of cypress, 330
of juniper, 308, 331
of firs and pine trees, 303

Coniferæ, survey of, 313
tabular statement of their families, sections, and genera, 331

Conifers, the three commonest in England, 308

Conjugation in lower forms of life, 183

Conjurers still believed by some to conjure spirits and deal in the
black art, 365

Connective tissue, 335

Conscious and unconscious minds, 262-263

Consciousness, arrival of, 213

Contagious magic and fish-eating, 354

Copal gum, similar to amber, 73

Copalite found at Highgate, 76

Coprolite on the Suffolk shore, 59

Coral, white, 3, 9

Corals related to sea-anemones, 89

Corethra, the plume fly, its transparent larva, 27, 224

Corpus Christi, festival of, and dancing, 174

Corpuscles, colourless, of the blood, 349
red, of the blood, 347

Correvon, M., his garden, 163

Corundum pebbles give flame-flash when rubbed together, 67

Courting dress of water-fleas, 205

Courtship, 180-215
methods of, in man not inherited or instinctive, 211

Crabs, 98, 104, 105

Crane-fly, 216 _et seq._

Crawfish and crayfish, 99

Crustaceans, use of the word, 98

Cucujos, the, a phosphorescent beetle of South America, 234

Cupressus sempervirens, the common cypress, 330

Cyancæa, the stinging jelly-fish of our coast, 95

Cycads, an order allied to conifers, 309

Cypress tree, the, 330

Cyprus and coffers, 330
and Crete, ancient vases from, with pictures of transition from
barnacle to goose, 130, 133

Daddy-Long-Legs, 216 _et seq._
sometimes used as a name for the spider-like Opilio, 220

Dagon, the fish-god, 352

Dancing and science, 169 _et seq._
of birds and spiders, 171
various kinds of, 172, 173, 177, 178

Daphne, the Alpine, 166

Darwin and Lord Morton's mare, 400

Dawson, Mr. Charles, discovers the missing link, 284

Deodar, the Himalayan cedar, 320

Destruction of native animals in England, 15

Dewar, Sir James, on suspended animation of luminous bacteria, 158

Diet, certain substances necessary to be healthy, 294

Diptera or two-winged flies, divisions of, 222

Disharmonies in animal structure and habit, 227
in man's structure, 228

Display in courtship, 197 _et seq._

Divination, 371
by the forked twig, 384
by throwing a rod into the air, 383
varieties of methods in, 371

Divining-rod, the, 383

Dormouse, easily loses the skin of its tail, 219

Dousers and dousing, 385
dishonest variety of, 388
or water-finders tested by a committee, 392
some honest, 387

Dragon, the heraldic, and the parachute lizard, 382

Dredge, the naturalist's, 1

Duclaux, Professor, his advice as to diet, 299

Dunwich, a submerged city, 50

Earth-worm, cœlom of the, 338

Educability, 213, 268-269

Elaterids, a family of beetles, 225
phosphorescent species of, 234

Emperor moth, attractive smell of female, 209

Eoanthropus Dawsoni, the Piltdown Hominid, 283

Erosion of the coast, 51

Euphausia, a phosphorescent shrimp, picture of, 154

Evergreens, our native, list of, 312

Ewart, Prof. Cossar, his experiments on telegony, 400

Experience, learning by individual, 212

Expression by the face, greater in man than apes, 273

Eyes of deep-sea animals, 93

Fabre, his opinion of animal intelligence, 197, 198

Fainting, men, at sight of blood, 345

Fast days, 351, 352

Felixstowe beach, 56
erosion of the coast at, 50
large piece of amber found at, 70

Fertilization, 180

Fir, Scots, 305, 321
Silver, or Abies pectinata, 315
used to build the Trojan horse, 306

Fire-flies of Southern Europe, 233

Firestones, 65

Fish, a young, saves Manu from the Deluge, 353
and Christian ornament, 356, 357
and fast days, 351 _et seq._
as the symbol of Christ, 354
certain, poisonous to every one, 358
modelled in gold, life size, dug up near the Black Sea, 353
poisons, 357, 358
some, poisonous only to certain individuals, 358
worship of, and the fish-god, 352

Fish-worship of the ancient Greek Orpheists, 355

Flame, flash of, produced under water, 66
produced by rubbing two quartz pebbles together, 65

Flame-seeking insects, 229, 230

Flies, two-winged, or Diptera which are phosphorescent, 234
various kinds of, 222, 223

Fly as dirt carrier, 300

Food, constituents of, 292

Foot of man and his upright carriage, 243

Foot-jaws of crab and lobster, 104

Forbes, Edward, a sketch by, 159

Fowl, the common, 43

France gained courage and self-respect through Pasteur, 415

French cookery, sham, in Switzerland, 165

Fresh water jelly-fish, 91, 92

Fridays and fish-eating, by Jews as well as Christians, 352

Frog, blue variety of the edible, 163

Futurists, 23

Galliformes, an order of birds, 43

Geese, drawings of, by ancient Mykenæan artists, modified to resemble
barnacles, 133, 134

Gelinotte, 46

Geology and living toads in rocks, 379

Geomancy, 372

Gerard the herbalist on the transformation of ship's barnacles into
geese, 121

Giard, Professor; discovery of a phosphorescent disease in
sand-hoppers, by him, 156

Gingko tree of Japan, 309

Giraldus Cambrensis and the production of geese from timber, 120

Glass-like marine animals, 92

Glow-worms, 233

Goose-tree, the, as drawn by Gerard in 1597, 123

Gopher tree of the Bible, 330

Gosse, Mr. Philip Henry, 83

Greek dancing, 175, 176
name-gods or totems, 356

Grouse, black, red, and others, 45
the, and allied birds, 41

Gummi-horn, the, 160

Hæma, the red part of blood, 339, 347

Hæmoglobin, or blood-red, 347
in the blood of the larva of thebig black midge (Chironomus), 223
in Bonellia, 11
in the coiled pond-snail, 346

Hæmolymph, the proper name for vertebrate blood, 339, 346

Hallucination and self-hypnotism, 372

Hamingia, a green worm, 10-11

Hamlet and superstition, 361

Hampstead Heath, 16

Hands and feet, size and shape of, as indicating character, 375

Hardanger Fiord, 3

Haruscipation, 372

Heart-urchin, 80

Henslow, of Cambridge, 59

Hierapolis, where Atargatis was worshipped, 352

Hopkins, Mr. Gowland, his experiments on diet, 294

Hôtel du Planet, good food at, 164

House sparrow trained to be a songster, 207

Houssay, M. Frederic, his discovery of the origin of the goose
and barnacle story in paintings on Mykenæan vases, 131 _et seq._

Huxley and Cuvier on the distinctive quality of man, 272
and Owen, their controversy, 236

Hybridization, infection of plants by, 403

Hydra tuba breaks up into jelly-fish, 97

Idiosyncrasy as to poisonous quality of fish, 358

Infant, crying of the human, a speciality, 272

Infantile diarrhœa, 300

Inflammation, nature of, 349

Insects, many guided by the sense of smell, 209

Instinct and reason in courtship, 205

Instincts, 267

Intestine, the large, a disharmony, 228

Japan, the umbrella pine of, 330

Javanese story of a bird produced by a shell-fish, 138

Jaw, lower surface of the Piltdown, compared with that of man and
of chimpanzee, 282
from Moulin-Quignon, 289
Heidelberg, compared with Piltdown, 286
Piltdown, 283

Jelly-fish, 91, 94, 95, 96, 97

Jelly-fishes which sting, 95

Juniper, the, 308, 330

Junipers, 330

Kauri resin, similar to amber, 73

Kowalewsky, the Russian zoologist, 11

Labouchere, Mr. Henry, his view on food, 293

Lacteals, or milky lymphatic vessels, 333

Lampyris noctiluca, the common glow-worm, 233

Lancelet, the, 2

Langouste, 99

Larch tree, the common, 307, 319

Laughter in apes, 241

Leather-jackets, the grubs of the Crane-fly, 221

Lebanon, cedar of, 320

Lepas anatifera, the ship's barnacle, 109

Leprosy and fish-diet, 357
favoured by same conditions as scurvy, 296

Lervik (Norway), 3

Lights, nocturnal, attract insects and birds, 230, 232

Lily of St. Bruno, 166

Limpet and cockle compared, 146, 148

Lizard, the parachute, is the model upon which the heraldic dragon
is founded, 382

Lobsters, 99, 100

Loch Fyne herrings, their food, 155

Longevity of a sea-anemone, 86

Lophohelia, 9

Luciola italica, the fire-fly of South Europe, 233

Luges, or mountain sledges, 167

Lug-worm, 79

Luminous bacteria, 158
grub of Paraguay called the railway-beetle, 234
or luminescent insects, 232

Lyell, Mr., his Bill for the preservation of the
Great Grey Seal, 32, 34
Sir Charles, used the term "missing link," 276

Lymph, amount of, in man's body, 333, 348
and lymphatic system, 332 _et seq._

Lymphatic vessels of the human arm (figure), 334

Lymph-hearts, 337

Magi, the priests of Zoroaster, 368

Magic, history of, 369, 370
sympathetic, 369

Male, the seeker and wooer, 185, 190

Man, his conscious memory, 187
primitive, courtship of, 195

Mandrill, beautiful colours of the, 205

Man's modern method of courtship, 215
structure compared with that of the gorilla and
chimpanzee, 239, 240, 241

Manu, the Indian Noah, 353

Mare, Lord Morton's, 400

Mares not infected by sire, 399-400, 401

Mastodon, fragments of teeth of, found with the Piltdown jaw, 289

Mate-hunger, Mr. Pycraft on, 191, 192

Maternal impressions, 396 _et seq._

May-flies or Ephemerids, 230
some are phosphorescent or luminescent, like glow-worms, 231

Mechanisms of instinct, inherited, 268, 269
of the mind, distinguished, 211, 212

Medicines, quack, and credulity, 366

Memory essential to consciousness, 264
unconscious, 266
unconscious and conscious, distinguished, 212, 214

Mendés, Catulle, the French poet, and jelly-fish, 97

Metchnikoff on disharmonies, 367

Midge (Chironomus), its grub has red blood, 346

Midges, large kind of, 223

Milk and infantile scurvy, 296
Pasteurized, 300
supply of pure, 292 _et seq._

Millais, Sir Everett, on telegony, 400

Millionaire and sodium in the sun, 378

Milton the poet, his belief in spontaneous generation, 126

Mind, the, of apes and of man, 262 _et seq._
of man differs from that of animals, 213

Missing link, the, 275 _et seq._

Molluscs, alternate swelling of and shrinking of parts of
the body, 149
and their shells, 142 _et seq._

Monboddo, Lord, his views on man and apes, 276

Monkey-puzzle or Araucarian pine, 329

Moray, Sir Robert, on the transformation of the ship's barnacle
into a goose, 115, 127

Moth, the, and the candle, 226 _et seq._
vapourer, male pursues female living in water and is drowned, 210

Mules, 399

Müller, Iwan, and the microscope, 28

Müller, Professor Max, his suggestion as to the origin of the belief
that barnacles give rise to geese, 139-141

Murray, Sir John, at Millport, 155

Muscles of apes and men, 247

Music a late acquisition of man, 208

Mussel, the edible, 145

Name-gods or totems of ancient Greeks, 356

Naples, 2, 52, 203

Naturalist on the seashore, 25

Nature reserves, 13

Nature-worship, the ancient, 352

Nauplius, the young form or larva of crustaceans, 105, 106, 107

Neander or Moustierian man, 280

Necromancy, or communication with the dead, 371

Needles of firs and pine trees, 303, 315
of pine-trees in tufts of one to five, 321

Nero, the Roman Emperor, and amber, 71

"Nigromantia" and the black at, 371

Nobel prizes, 412

Normand, Rev. Canon, 3

Norway, 1

Noverre, "the Shakespeare of the dance," 176

"Nullius in verba," the motto of the Royal Society, 128, 362, 407

Nutrition, not so simple a matter as supposed, 293

Occultism, modern, 363

Octopus, courtship of the, 203

Odours as attractions and guides in courtship, 209

Opal, 57

Orchestia, a sand-hopper, 153

Orpheus, the fish-god, substituted for Dionysus, the wine-god, 355
the warden of the fishes, a fish-god, 355

Ovules and sperms, 181

Oxygen carried by the red corpuscles of blood, 347

Oysters growing on trees, 145

Palmistry or chiromancy, 372, 373

Paradisia liliastrum, 166

Pasteur, the Institut, a great seat of discovery, 416
what he cost to France, 415

Pavlova, Madame Anna, 169, 178

Pebbles of the seashore, 55-63

Penguins, method of courtship of, 196

Pentargon Cove and a young Grey Seal, 35, 40

Perfumes produced by male butterflies, 210
use of, by man, 209

Phagocytes, 336, 349

Phonograph and chants of Australian natives, 31

Phosphorescence of the sea, 153

Phosphorescent insects, 232
sand-hoppers, 156
shrimps, 154, 155

Photo-taxis or light guidance, 235

Picea, the genus of the Spruce or Christmas tree, 317

Pierre-à-voir, 167

Piltdown jaw, age of the, 289
jaw and Heidelberg jaw compared, 286
jaw, as reconstructed by Dr. Smith Woodward, 288
skull and jaw, 289

Pine, origin of the word, 304
Aleppo, 322
Arolla (Pinus cembra), 328
Bhotan (Pinus excelsa), 329
Californian prickly, 320
cluster, or Pinaster, 322
Corsican or Austrian, 322
Monterey, or Pinus insignis, at Bournemouth, 324
Montezuma of Mexico, 329
Pyrenæan or Calabrian, 322
stone, or parasol pine, 323
trees and other conifers, 302 _et seq._
umbrella, of Japan, 330
Weymouth (Pinus strobus), 328

Pipe-fish, 75

Pollen of pine trees carried by wind, 304

Ponds as nature-reserves, 27

Prawns, 99

Primates, apes and bats, 238

Proteids, special, necessary in food, 297

Pseudotsuga, the Douglas fir, 327

Ptarmigan, 45

Ptomaines of putrid fish, 357

Puteoli, near Naples, 52

Quartz, 57
crystals, rubbed together produce flame, 67

Raised beaches, 52

Rats, experiments on feeding young, 294

Razor-fish, 80

Reasoning, the origin of false as well as of true beliefs, 367

Record, the Great, the peculiar possession of humanity, 271

Redi, Italian naturalist, on the generation of maggots by eggs laid
by flies, 126

Regeneration of legs and tails, 218, 219

Religion and magic, one in origin, 369.

Reproduction, mechanism of, 181

Research, scientific, a delicate plant, 411
how to help it by money, 413
various attempts at promoting, 411

Reserves for native fauna in various countries, 19

Rhabdopleura, 4, 5, 6, 7

Rice, polished, and berri-berri, 297

Rings of the body of crab, lobster, and prawn, 104

Rock-pools, 25, 81

Roman road, submerged, near Naples, 52

Royal Society, its influence on superstition, 361
its motto, 128, 362, 407
the method of its founders, 362

Ruff, the display in courtship of the, 198

St. Swithin's Day, belief about, exploded, 406

Sagartia troglodytes, a beautiful sea-anemone, 85, 88

Samland, where amber is mined, 70

Sand, dry, shrinks when wetted, 64
of the seashore, 65
size and shape of its grains, 62

Sand-eels, 79

Sand-hoppers, 152
disease of, 156, 157

Sardines, 360

Savin, a kind of juniper, 308

Scavengers, phagocytes as, 349

Schliemann's great experiment, 406

Schynige Platte, view from the, 160

Sciadopitys, the Japanese umbrella pine, 330

Science and the unknown, 361 _et seq._

Scientific discovery aided by money, 408 _et seq._

Scorpions, cannibalism of, 202

Scots fir, 305, 312

Scurvy, infantile, described by Sir Thomas Barlow, 296
nature of that disease, 295

Sea-anemones, 81, 84, 85, 86

Seal, the Great Grey, 32 _et seq._
the northern fur-seal, courtship of, 192, 193

Sea shells, 142

Seashore as nature-reserve, 24
constituents of, 48, 55

Sea-worms, 78, 79

Seeds, winged, of fir trees, 317

Sequoia, the Big-tree and the Red-wood, 329

Shakespear and barnacles, 120

Shells of molluscs, 142

Singing competitions of male birds, 207

Skeleton of apes and man, 245 _et seq._

Skull and jaw found at Piltdown, 277, 290

Smell, the sense of, in man and animals, 208, 209

Smithson, founder of the Smithsonian Institute, 409

Snail, pond-, with red blood, 346

Soap-wort, 167

Soho, old house in, 14

Song, the beginnings of, in man, 208

Sounds as attractions in courtship, 206

Space, extreme cold of, not fatal to life, 159

Spencer, Professor Baldwin, shows bioscope pictures of
Australian natives, 30

Sperms and ovules, 181

Spider's courtship and dance, 201

Sprats fraudulently sold as Anchovies and as Sardines, 360

Spruce introduced to Britain by man, 307
or Norway pine, 306, 317

Stickleback's nest and courtship, 200, 201

Stordö (Lervik), 3

Stricker of Vienna, the microscopist, 336

Succinite, correct name for amber, 75

Survival value of colour in flowers, 168

Switzerland, 160 _et seq._

Synapta, and anchors in its skin, 80

Tail of man, a disharmony, 228

Talitrus, a sand-hopper, 153

Taxodinæ, a group of fir trees, 329

Teeth of apes and of man, 248, 249
of extinct animals on the seashore, 59
wisdom, as disharmonies, 228

Telegony described, 399

Tetraonidæ, the grouse family, 44

Thoracic duct, the, 334

Thumb of apes and of man compared, 243

Thuya, the Arbor vitæ, 330

Tipula oleracea, the Crane-fly or Daddy-Long-Legs, 216 _et seq._

Toads found living in stone, 376 _et seq._

Topiary and yew trees, 312

Troy, discovery of ancient, 406

Tsetse fly, 22

Tyndal, the late Professor, 67

Vitamine from outer coat of rice-grain, 298

Volvox animalcule, 183, 184

Water-finder, impostor exposed, 392, 393

Water-finders, 387, 390

Water-finding, theories of, 388, 389

Weald of Sussex, 289

Wellingtonia, the American Big-tree, 329

Whittington and his cat, origin of the legend, 139

Wickham Fen, 18

Willey, Dr., on the lancelet, 3

Winter-green, 167

Wire-worms, true and false, 221

Woman in civilized races, not man, seeks to captivate by display, 211

Yew, the Irish, 311, 312
trees, 310, 311, 312

_Printed by_ MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED, _Edinburgh_

Transcribers notes:

Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling is retained.

Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.

Bold is shown thus: =strong=.

Small capitals have been capitalised.

In the Index for Piltdown, skull and jaw, 289 was added as it was
missing in the original.

In the Index the entry for Max Müller, Professor, has been altered to
Müller, Professor Max, and placed accordingly.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Diversions of a Naturalist" ***

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